The Snows of Yesteryear
by GranthamGal
Summary: A blizzard strands the Crawley family at Downton for two weeks during the winter of 1892. What begins as an inconvenient storm, soon becomes a catalyst for much more.
1. Day One

A/N: Hello readers! So I have been working on this story for quite a while and it is finally time to release it out into the Downton universe. I do hope you all enjoy it.

The story was originally inspired by Violet's line in the series two Christmas Special: "mais ou sont les neiges d'antan," and it just grew from there. The story will be fourteen chapters in all. Not all the chapters will verge into M-rated territory, but the rating is there just to be safe. So, without further ado...

* * *

_December 25th, 1919_

The Crawley family was encamped in the library, piles of gifts all around them. There was discarded wrapping paper and half drained glasses of champagne discarded on various tables and everyone was busily inspecting their presents or distributing them to the other guests. Robert wandered over to his mother, who was standing by the settee inspecting her awful nutcracker from Isobel, and they both eyed Rosamund worriedly.

"How do you know him?" Robert inquired of his mother, as they discussed Rosamund's latest interest. Lord Hepworth would be arriving late the next evening.

"I knew his father in the late sixties," she replied. "Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?"

* * *

Later that evening, Robert sat in bed, chuckling to himself as he remembered his mother's words from earlier that day. Cora looked over and raised her eyebrows curiously. It had been a trying few months, and with Bates' trial looming over the house, hearing Robert chuckle was a rare occurrence.

"What has you in stitches over there?" Cora asked, as she crawled into bed beside him.

"Oh, nothing," Robert murmured, still smiling to himself.

"Well, now you must tell me," Cora replied, taking in his amused expression.

"If you insist. It was something Mama said earlier: _Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan." _

"Darling, you know my French is not what it should be," Cora giggled, her face twisting in slight confusion at his poorly delivered French expression.

Robert only rolled his eyes in jest, leaning closer to his wife. "It means 'but where are the snows of yesteryear?'" He explained. And it just had me thinking about that one winter—

"Oh, God!" Cora began laughing, her giggles interrupting whatever he was going to say next. "Darling, you very well know we agreed never to discuss that 'yesteryear' ever again."

"Yes, yes I know. And I shall not mention it again," he agreed as Cora settled against his chest. They both chuckled quietly once more before Robert reached over to click off their bedroom light. Soon, they were both asleep, memories and dreams of that ill fated winter so many years ago swirling in both their minds.

* * *

_January 31__st__, 1892_

The house was set up for a party, and a grand one at that. The dining room was bathed in the soft candlelight that could only be achieved with the use of dozens of candles all flickering in unison and each place setting had been measured with care and decorated with the most delicate china. In the library, there was holly draped with perfect precision over the doorway to mark the winter season and a large pile of neatly wrapped presents in the corner; beside a table covered with unopened bottles of scotch, brandy and port that were all waiting to be consumed.

Violet Crawley had overseen every detail and worked painstakingly to ensure it would be a most perfect evening. After all, it was her only daughter's twenty-fifth birthday. Anything less than perfection just would not do. Rosamund had gone along with the plans for a large party at her childhood home but she did insist on being allowed to at least invite some friends from London. Violet certainly did not approve her _"modern London friends,"_ as she always referred to them, but thought it would be easier than doing battle with Rosamund—who was nearly as stubborn as her parents. So, beside the minor disagreement about the guest list, the planning had gone off without a hitch until the very day of the party. Most unfortunate for Violet, and her grand fete, the storm brewing outside Downton Abbey had very different plans for their evening. Unlike the proverbial storms of tension or anger that often clouded the house, this happened to be a much more literal storm. It had been snowing since early afternoon, rather heavily, and several trees in the distance already looked as though they were about to collapse under the weight of the quickly falling precipitation. The house was warm, thanks to countless fireplaces being lit, but one look out the window would confirm the fact that it was quite horrid weather and most certainly not appropriate for entertaining.

Nevertheless, the house had been decorated for a party and so a party they would have, Violet had insisted. What had been planned as a party for over fifty guests, though, had dwindled to a much more intimate gathering. Not a single neighbor had made it out that evening and anyone coming up from London had gotten stuck en route. So Lady Rosamund Painswick sat, with a rather annoyed expression, in the nearly empty library along with her husband, parents, brother, and sister-in-law. It was most certainly not the wild gathering she had imagined. Taking a look around the room, she decided it was time to admit defeat to Mother Nature and head off to bed—

"Well, this has been a most joyous occasion but I think I shall retire now, Mama."

Rosamund could no longer take the dreadful quiet of the drafty library and was ready to go celebrate privately with her husband—hoping that the day would not be a complete loss, or perhaps open a few of those bottles on the far table and have a celebratory drink. Her and her "guests" had encamped on the settees around the fireplace and, well, they had not been the most energetic guests to begin with. It was a wholly disappointing excuse for a party. But, Mama had insisted and so they had all diligently marched down in their finest party attire to celebrate her special day. But now that evening was turning to night, it was time to throw in the towel.

"Don't you want to at least open your presents?" Cora asked, turning away from the fire with a questioning glance. Cora's eyes were always so bright and inquisitive that it nearly made Rosamund laugh each time Cora's face contorted to express _confusion_ or _surprise._ Each expression of hers was so utterly American; Rosamund knew it drove her mother up the wall.

"Cora, we do not open birthday gifts in front of an audience like some sort of common performance," Violet interjected with a stern glance. Cora only reddened slightly and turned her attention back to the fire and her husband. After nearly three years in the family she was used to the barbed comments thrown her way, but it still was not easy feeling as though every movement she made was wrong in some way. Thankfully, Robert caught her gaze and offered her an apologetic smile before taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

Cora's comment caught Rosamund's attention, though. The large stack of gifts did look rather exciting; at least more exciting than the night had been thus far. What would be the harm in opening a few gifts?

"Oh, alright. I suppose I will open a few," Rosamund sighed, feigning indifference as she happily sat up from the settee and wandered over to the large pile. Looking at the tags attached, she chose a few haphazardly before returning to her seat with an armful of presents.

Rosamund smirked as her mother rolled her eyes in annoyance at her blatant disregard for her instruction, but her father smiled and nodded his approval as he took a long sip of his port.

"Come now Violet, she should have a bit of fun. She is trapped here celebrating her birthday with us, after all." Her father grinned at her once more and motioned toward a gift at the top of the pile. "From your mother and I," he explained.

Rosamund tore open the box with reckless abandon, her mother watching with abject horror as cream colored wrapping flew all over the floor. Rummaging until finding something at the bottom of the box—an envelope—Rosamund pulled it out and tore it open as well.

She gasped with delight upon reading its contents—"Oh, Papa, Paris? You shouldn't have." She popped up out of her seat once more to embrace her father.

"They've given us three weeks in Paris," Rosamund explained as she sat beside her husband and handed him the card.

"That is very kind, thank you, Sir." Marmaduke Painswick held out his hand to his father in law and nodded gratefully at Lady Grantham as well.

"Have you ever been to Paris, Marmaduke?" Violet inquired, raising her brow slightly in question.

He shook his head before stealing a glance at Rosamund. "No—no, I've never been. My parents did not often have time to travel, what with the business."

"Ah, I see." She replied, though she already knew his answer. "Well, manufacturing is rather hard work, I hear."

Marmaduke only cleared his throat and nodded slightly, handing the card back to Rosamund who rolled her eyes. It was as though her mother was intent on reminding her husband of his less than aristocratic origins at every turn. It did not matter that he had a fortune larger than theirs or that he had grown up in one of the largest townhouses in London. Because he went to work each morning and received money for that work, her mother would always see him as a less that desirable spouse for her titled and well bred daughter.

"Cora and I quite enjoyed Paris, didn't we, Darling?" Robert interjected, looking at his wife, whose eyes were still fixed on the crackling fire.

Cora grinned slightly and agreed as she turned to face the group. The last time they had been to Paris was on their honeymoon. Though it held countless awkward memories of stilted conversations and strained attempts at consummating their union, they did both rather enjoy exploring the city and had been meaning to take another trip there. Even with the awkwardness, she still had fond memories of Robert attempting to speak French at the small boutiques or when he tripped and nearly fell right into the Seine. They had gotten to know each other on that trip, and had started their relationship there. Cora was pulled from her thoughts when she realized her mother in law was staring at her with a slight frown. Cora reddened, realizing she had been gazing off into space, and murmured an apology.

Not wanting to give her mother the opportunity to prod her husband or sister in law with more questions, Rosamund chose another gift randomly from the pile, checking the small card to see whom it was from. "—Ah, this one is from Robert. Well little brother, let's see what you've come up with," she laughed, ripping open the paper.

Beneath the navy wrapping was a large leather-bound novel. Rosamund eyed it curiously before looking up to meet her brother's anticipatory gaze.

"It's a book," he explained, grinning excitedly at his choice. Robert was a notoriously awful gift-giver. He would normally choose novels that only _he_ would like to read, or some other practical gift that no one would necessarily want to receive as a gift. He had been most excited last Christmas to give Cora a new oil lamp, a more modern one, for her bedside table. Rumor around the house was that after that disaster of a gift, Robert had been banished to his dressing room for two days before realizing the error of his ways and returning to the house with a lovely necklace on the third day.

"Robert, I think she can see that," Cora interrupted.

"Right, of course. Well, it's called _The White Company._ It's by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You know, he writes those jolly tales about that detective character? Well this is his new novel. You see it's about a prince who is trying to restore order to his kingdom and he goes on a journey—"

"—Thank you, Robert," Rosamund interrupted, politely putting the novel, which she would likely never open, down on the table beside her. Cora smirked knowingly at her and then grinned lovingly at her adorably bookish husband.

"That one is from me, well Robert and I," Cora said, pointing to another gift, this one wrapped much more delicately than Robert's had been. Thankfully, upon opening the large box, Rosamund did not find another book, but instead, a lovely champagne colored tea gown with delicate beads and a far more modern cut than anything her mother ever purchased for her. Cora watched hopefully as she inspected the garment.

"It's gorgeous, thank you, Cora darling." Rosamund grinned at her mother's pained expression—she would no doubt make a comment about the dress's unsuitable style in a few moments. Rosamund chuckled inwardly. Cora had only been a member of the family for three years, but she had learned quickly. Upon marrying Robert, she had arrived at Downton rather quiet and unsure. Rosamund and she had become fast friends, gossiping about various family members and discussing London society for hours on end. It was Rosamund who had first taken Cora shopping, and Rosamund who taught Cora to never take advice on clothing from Violet—lest she end up looking like an expensively clothed, drab, middle-aged woman. Looking down at the gift Cora had chosen for her, Rosamund smiled once more at her young sister in law. She was easing into the family rather well and had been a fast learner these last few years.

After opening a few more gifts from various family members—the contents of which included: several more novels, a frightful necklace and a pair of oddly patterned gloves, Rosamund explained that she was rather tired and suggested that they all turn in for the evening. The four younger guests stood as Lord and Lady Grantham said their goodnights, and Rosamund eyed the group with a wicked expression as soon as her mother had left the room. Finally, it was time to have a real gathering.

"Now we can celebrate properly," she laughed, rushing over to break open one of the bottles of champagne.

Cora giggled nervously, knowing that Rosamund's antics nearly always got them into trouble, but when Marmaduke and Robert both shrugged and took a glass from the table, Cora only pursed her lips and took a glass as well.

"I propose a toast," Robert began. "To my lovely sister. I hope you have the happiest of days, Rosamund."

Rosamund grinned and embraced her brother, only rolling her eyes slightly at his heartfelt speech. The foursome all smiled and clicked their glasses together, toasting to the sister, friend and wife that they were there to celebrate.

Three bottles later, both couples were considerably incapacitated. Robert and Cora were sitting side by side on the larger settee, both staring off into space while discussing the possibility that the room was in fact spinning. Rosamund on the other hand, had sprawled out on the other settee and was lying across her husband, who handled his liquor a bit better, and was chuckling quietly at the other three guests.

"Do you really have to go tomorrow?" Cora asked, finally settling her gaze from the ceiling back to Rosamund and Marmaduke.

Rosamund nodded clumsily and moved to sit up. "Yes, we must get back to London. You see spending more than twenty four hours at Downton always gives me a dreadful headache!" Rosamund and Robert dissolved into childish giggles as Cora confusedly shrugged her shoulders and leaned against her husband, awkwardly reaching her hand inside his jacket and running her fingers across his chest. .

"We really must go, though—" Marmaduke explained, "I have to be back to work tomorrow and we would hate to outstay our welcome." Rosamund nodded once more in agreement and drained the last of her champagne. Looking at her two incapacitated guests and tired husband, she stood, finally, and motioned toward the door.

"I suppose it is time to call it a night, Crawleys." Rosamund giggled at her own joke and reached for her husband's hand.

Robert sighed in agreement and stood, holding his hand out for his wife to take. Cora, though, was more than a bit tipsy, and she only looked up at him with a slightly dazed smile. Robert rolled his eyes playfully and reached down to scoop her up into his arms, pressing a kiss to her neck as they headed toward the door.

But as they walked by the large windows of the library, Cora tugged on Robert's jacket, motioning for him to stop. "Robert—look." Cora pointed toward the window to the far left, and the four of them all raised their eyebrows in surprise. Thick white snow was falling heavily and it looked as though there was nearly a foot of it already accumulated outside the window.

"It looks like you two might be stuck here," Robert chuckled loudly, stealing a glance at his sister and brother in law, who were both eyeing the snow worriedly.

"Don't count on it," Rosamund retorted, looking at her husband for assurance. Marmaduke remained quiet, though, and only shrugged his shoulders.

"We'll see in the morning," Robert finally replied, adjusting his grip on Cora as they all left the library and walked toward the stairs.

Bidding each other a good night at the top of the staircase, Robert and Cora watched as the birthday girl and her husband stumbled slightly down the hallway toward their bedroom. Grinning wickedly at his own wife, Robert clicked open the door to their room and made quite sure it was locked once they were inside. It was rather late in the evening and all the servants had been dismissed for the night, so they were left to fend for themselves. Robert set Cora down on the bed before sitting on the edge to remove his shoes.

Cora, meanwhile, decided that she wanted to have a bit of fun. She had spent the entire night behaving so as not to upset Violet. It was Rosamund's birthday, after all, and so she did not want her mother in law upset with her over some silly breach of etiquette when she could be focusing on Rosamund. So, Cora had sat quietly and held her tongue for most of the evening. But now, she was alone with her husband and she was quite tired of holding her tongue.

Cora managed to sit up on her knees, though the room was spinning ever so slightly, and crawl across the bed to where Robert was sitting. Without warning she began pressing warm kisses to the back of his neck as she clumsily attempted to reach around and undo his shirt buttons. She was not entirely successful, and instead managed to get her hands tangled in the fabric of his clothes. Robert only chuckled and finally turned around to meet his wife's coquettish grin.

"Cora, you should go to bed," Robert whispered, slurring slightly. He was not quite as drunk as his wife, but Robert was admittedly affected by the several drinks he had consumed and, much like Cora, the room still seemed to be spinning slightly. But, Cora was still grinning wickedly at him and made another movement for his shirt buttons. She missed. Her hand instead landed much lowed, and grazed just below the closure of his trousers. Letting out an involuntary groan, Robert stopped protesting and finally gave in. Her touch was his undoing and he finally ripped his own shirt off, letting the buttons fly everywhere as he haphazardly removed his clothing and watched as Cora did the same. Giggling for no apparent reason, Cora threw her dress across the room and they both watched as it flew threw the air and landed on her vanity.

Robert removed the last of his clothing and helped Cora to remove her corset—a task that took the two of them far longer than usual—before pulling her into his embrace and clumsily settling them beneath the blankets atop their bed.

Robert's lips found Cora's and though their movements were slowed by a haze of intoxication and the warmth of the room, their pleasure was audible as Cora murmured soft, unintelligible adorations against Robert's chest and he drew Cora closer, letting his lips trail lower and lower until she gasped and giggled with delight. When Robert finally pushed into her with a satisfied groan, he was absolutely sure the room was indeed spinning, and he had to keep both his arms securely on his wife so as not to lose his balance.

Several minutes later they both collapsed against their tangled sheets, too exhausted to move, save for Cora's roaming hands, which were drawing abstract patterns across Robert's perspiring chest. When her hands finally stilled against him, they clung tightly to one another and murmured their goodnights, soon falling asleep as the storm continued to rage outside their window.


	2. Day Two

_February 1__st__, 1892_

Rosamund woke to the smell of fresh logs burning in the fireplace of her bedroom and the soft popping of the wood as the flames danced around them. Stretching slightly, she sat up with a frown. Her husband had apparently woken and gone down for breakfast already, but something was not quite right. Leaning to check the clock on the bedside table, Rosamund suddenly felt rather ill. It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning. She and Marmaduke had planned on taking an early train back to London—he had promised her that they would not leave later than eight o'clock. But here it was, nearing ten and she was still in bed.

Not bothering to ring for her maid, Rosamund slipped her dressing gown on and trudged angrily out of her room and down the stairs. Someone owed her some sort of explanation. When she reached the entryway, though, she paused; her mouth agape, she approached the front door and looked out the window.

_It was still snowing._

Thick, heavy flakes of snow were falling toward the ground and it was so thick that she could barely see out beyond a few feet away from the house. More disturbingly, the outside entrance was completely covered with a pristine blanket of untouched snow, and the driveway was similarly decorated. Feeling dread bubbling up in her stomach, Rosamund approached the dining room with trepidation, already knowing what explanation would await her.

She said nothing upon entering the room, and only eyed her parents and husband who were all chatting quietly and did not even notice her arrival. Her mother was the first to look up, and judging by the look of disgust on her face, she was not amused by her failure to dress that morning.

"Rosamund," she hissed, "what on earth are you doing down here in such a state of undress."

Choosing to ignore both her mother and the storm outside, Rosamund only glared at her husband who was keeping his eyes quite focused on the plate in front of him. "Why did you not wake me? We've certainly missed our train."

Marmaduke chuckled slightly and motioned toward the window. "Rosamund, we are not going anywhere. Not today at least."

"Well I am ready to go back to London. Can we not arrange a later train?"

"Rosamund—" Patrick Crawley looked up from his tea and eyed his daughter with an amused expression. Though he rarely raised his voice, Patrick had the unmatched ability to silence both Rosamund and Robert with the cool tone of his voice. They would argue endlessly with their mother but would not dare go against their father.

Rosamund paused and turned from her husband to her father. "Yes?"

"Go upstairs to change and then come to join us for breakfast. If you have perhaps not already realized, we are in the middle of a storm and you shall not be traveling back to London today." With a slight raise of his eyebrows, Patrick looked away from his daughter and took a sip from his cup.

"Well I shall stay in my room, then. If Robert has not graced the table with his presence, I certainly am not coming back down." Rosamund stood up a bit straighter and dared any of them to challenge her. Her father only gazed out the window passively. Her husband continued to eat his breakfast, but her mother looked up with another look of vague annoyance.

"Robert does not often grace us with his presence, as you so eloquently put it," she explained, taking another bite of her eggs. "He follows the whims of his wife more than he does any sense of propriety. Those two are not often downstairs until after eleven."

Rosamund watched with mild amusement as her mother shuddered slightly, obviously thinking of what Robert and Cora could be getting up to each morning, but she said nothing else and only returned to her breakfast.

Apparently defeated, Rosamund took one final look at the silent breakfast table and turned on her heels, flouncing out of the room with her dressing down flowing behind her. "I will be going back to London this afternoon," she cried over her shoulder. She received no response and walked silently back to her room pondering possible escape routes.

* * *

Robert and Cora, meanwhile, were still holed up in Cora's bedroom. Their fire was crackling excitedly in the fireplace and the entire room was enwrapped with the warmth radiating out of it. The inhabitants of the room were not quite as excited, though. Robert was awake but had been staring at the canopy above him for untold minutes. Cora was still fast asleep and pressed against his chest. Not wanting to wake his wife, he had laid as still as he could and tried to will away the pounding headache he had woken up with. If was his own fault, of course; he had perhaps drank one too many glasses of champagne the night before. The night was a haze but he did have a collection of various memories, all tinged with the intoxication of too much expensive French champagne: he remembered Rosamund loving his gift (which he had been most excited to give her). He remembered betting Marmaduke that he could indeed jump clear over the settee if he had a running start. He remembered losing that bet. He remembered carrying Cora to their room. He remembered Cora's dress being flung across the room and he remembered Cora collapsing atop him after they made love. Everything in between those details was rather hazy and his current headache was certainly not helping matters. He continued to lie flat against their bed, piecing together the previous night, until Cora finally stirred.

"Oh, God, why is it so bright in here?" Cora murmured, rolling away from Robert and pulling the blanket over her head.

Robert chuckled and moved to sit up. "Cora, it is the exact opposite of bright; look outside—" He motioned toward the drawn curtains, though Cora was still hiding beneath the thick blanket. Poking her head out curiously a moment later, Cora gasped with delight when she saw the snow still heavily falling outside their window.

"How lovely," she exclaimed, forgetting her headache and turning stomach, looking at Robert with a wide grin. "We must go out for a walk later when it stops."

Robert nodded in agreement and finally stood, leaving the warmth of their bed to retrieve their dressing gowns. Handing one to Cora, he sat back down as he tied his own. "I doubt Rosamund and Marmaduke were able to leave this morning," he mused. Cora hummed in agreement but crept up behind him, and mirroring her movements from the night before, pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. Robert grinned at the feeling of his wife's lips against his skin, but he pulled back slightly and turned to face her.

"We should get up," he grinned, leaning in to press one more kiss to her forehead. He watched as she rolled her eyes and flounced back against the pillows.

"Cora, we really must get up. I have not been down to breakfast in over a week. You know how Mama hates that—"

Cora rolled her eyes once more and cut him off mid sentence. "—I don't know why; she should be glad you spend so much time in here," Cora replied coolly.

Robert paused to look at his wife before responding. She had closed her eyes again and was trying so very hard not to let any emotion pass across her face. She did not need to say anything else; Robert already knew to what she was referring. Last week there had been yet another blow of sorts—this particular battle taking place in the library over afternoon tea. Violet had mentioned something about a neighbor of theirs who had just given birth. Cora only looked away as Violet sighed and looked pointedly in Cora's direction, muttering something about their lack of a grandchild. His mama did not need to say anything more after that. It was the same argument that had already been had countless times. It was an argument and worry with no answer. Cora was still not pregnant and, though no one would say the words out loud, with each passing day the anxiety within the house mounted.

The needed a child; they needed an heir. For whatever reason, Cora could not seem to provide them with one and Violet resented her for it. Still, no one said anything directly; they all seemed content to dance around it—for now at least.

Finally opening her eyes again, Cora offered her husband a small smile and patted the empty space on the bed beside her. Utterly unable to resist her, Robert grinned and settled back into bed, wrapping his arms around Cora as he ran his hand soothingly up and down her back. He did not want her to worry and he certainly did not want her to feel badly. It would all be just fine. Yes, it had been nearly three years, but that was not necessarily cause for worry. And if Rosamund and Marmaduke were going to be here for an extra day, the last thing they all needed was tension between his mama and Cora. There was bound to be enough tension between Rosamund and their parents, anyway, if she was kept from going back to London.

* * *

"Violet would you care to tell me why you are pacing?"

Violet had been wandering back and forth across the floor of the library for several minutes, staring intently at the falling snow outside the window. Startled by her husband's voice from across the room, she turned with a look of surprise.

"I am not pacing."

Patrick only chuckled and returned to his paperwork. "If you are going to continue _not_ pacing could you please do it a bit more quietly? I am trying to write a letter."

Violet sat passively on a chair near his desk and gazed at her husband. The deep lines of concentration etched across his forehead always worried her. He looked so much older than he had when they married. The life of Lord and Lady had aged them irreparably. Not just physically, though. Their relationship had aged from a youthful courtship, one borne out of shy gazes across ballrooms, to a proper partnership. They worked seamlessly together. Violet ran the house with the mastery of someone who had been bred for the position and Patrick took care of everything else. Or, he was supposed to, at least.

The great illusion had been shattered a few years earlier when he came to her and explained that the money was nearly gone. Emotionlessly, he explained that Robert would simply have to marry an heiress to save the estate. His shrewd calculations had frightened her, and frightened was not an adjective Violet Crawley would ever attribute to herself. But listening to her husband's plan to sacrifice their son, her perfect, intelligent, thoughtful son, on the alter of his failed legacy, she realized just what she had sacrificed for the title of Countess and just how frightened it made her.

Their relationship had never been quite the same.

Robert had married Cora in a small countryside ceremony and she had watched as they avoided each other like the plague for weeks on end. It was nearly a year before the two seemed glad to spend time together. Violet knew her son loved the young American with the bright eyes and soft laugh. Robert was quiet and gentle, but he was not good at concealing his feelings. And one glance at his face whenever his wife walked into the room would confirm the fact that he was hopelessly smitten with her. It was better off that way, she supposed. He could have been miserable; at least he loved her. But now it was three years later and there was still no child. Violet did not care to meddle in her son and daughter in law's affairs, but she was fairly certain it was not for lack of trying—the maids she intimidated for information could often attest to the fact that the two shared a bed each night. But still, she had that same frightened feeling every time she allowed herself to consider the possibility that a child might never come.

Her mind flashed to Rosamund for a brief moment before she swallowed the memories and forced herself to stand. There was no time to dwell in the past, and certainly no time to think about _that—_

"I am going to rest until the gong," Violet murmured, heading toward the library door. She watched as her husband nodded without looking up from his letter. As she wandered up the stairs, intending to rest a bit before dinner, Violet nearly ran right into Robert and Cora, who were both bundled up and walking down the staircase arm in arm. Almost reflexively Robert released his wife's arm as they both stammered apologies for nearly knocking her down. Violet only gave them a once over look and frowned confusedly.

"Where are you two going?"

They exchanged a sheepish glance and Cora spoke first. "Just for a walk outside," she explained, smiling slightly.

"You do realize it is still snowing quite heavily?"

"—Yes, well." Robert interjected, but paused. He did not particularly want to explain to his mother that Cora liked walking in the snow because she thought it was magical. Nor did he want to explain what Cora had promised him later in exchange for an expedition out into the storm.

"We will be back long before dinner," Cora interrupted, lacing her arm through Robert's once more. He smiled at her gratefully as they nodded at his mother and continued down the stairs. Violet only sighed in response and continued on.

Robert held onto Cora's arm a bit more securely as they crept down the main entrance toward the door. His mother was one thing, but he knew that his father would absolutely forbid their wandering around out in the snow. So, they walked quietly past the library before stealing off toward the door, not slowing their quickened pace until they were several steps outside the door. The snow was still falling heavily and the large snowflakes were blowing all around them. It was nearly dark, but there was still a fair amount of daylight for them to make use of. They trudged along their usual path for a while until reaching the crest of a hill. They stopped, gazing at the house and lawn below.

"So beautiful," Cora murmured, squeezing Robert's arm.

Robert grinned in response and turned to face his wife. "You are beautiful," he replied quietly, releasing his grasp on her arm and allowing his gloved hands to cup her cheeks. Cora looked beautiful in the evening light. Her cheeks were bright pink from the cold and her lips were nearly the same color. Her eyes seemed brighter than usual, if that was possible, and they beckoned him forward, her teasing expression all the motivation he needed.

Leaning down slightly, he pulled Cora close and pressed his lips to hers, not caring that the snow was coming down even more heavily or that the wind at the top of the hill sent a chill right through his clothes each time it blew past them. Cora sighed happily against his lips and settled into his embrace. She had been cold as well, but a heat was growing inside her as she felt Robert's tongue against her own and his arms wrapped around her waist. Just as his lips broke away from hers and found their way down her neck, they both paused, vaguely aware of a crunching noise coming from behind them. Untangling themselves, they both turned to see Carson approaching from the direction of the house: underdressed for the weather and looking quite embarrassed for having interrupted them. He cleared his throat as he came closer and nodded at the young couple.

"Milord, I apologize for disturbing your walk—"

Robert shook his head in understanding, feeling awful that someone had forced poor Carson to come and find them. "What is it?" He asked, still holding onto Cora's arm.

"Lady Rosamund, Milord. She is asking for you and Lady Downton."

"Rosamund?" Cora interrupted. "What could she need us for?"

Carson had no further information, though, only the instruction to find them and return them to the house. He explained that Lady Rosamund had been rather persistent and insisted that they return straight away.

Robert and Cora followed Carson back to the house and were quickly ushered upstairs and let into Rosamund's bedroom. She was pacing back and forth as Marmaduke sat quietly in the corner, reading a book. She looked up with wide eyes and an odd expression as they entered the room, closing the door behind them.

"Oh, good, you two are back." She smiled slightly, but continued to pace.

"Rosamund, what is it?" Robert asked, rather annoyed. He knew his sister and her whims and emotions better than most. Rosamund certainly had a flair for the dramatic, and her pacing was a learned behavior from their mother. He had no idea what she could possibly want with them; they had not seen her all day.

Rosamund did not answer and only sat on her bed, looking out the window with a sigh. Marmaduke, in turn, put his book down and looked over at Robert. "Rosamund seems to think that I am exaggerating when I say I do not believe we will be able to get to London tomorrow."

"—What?" Robert interrupted, turning his attention to his sister. "_This_ is why you interrupted our walk?"

"Oh, please. Haven't you two done enough 'walking' today?" Rosamund retorted, eyeing the couple with an amused smirk. Cora reddened slightly, but Robert was undeterred.

"Rosamund, what is it?"

"I cannot stay in this house for another day. But if I absolutely must, then you two must stay and entertain us," she replied, standing and starting to pace once more.

"Dear, you are being rather dramatic," Marmaduke called from across the room. Rosamund only glared at him and looked back at Robert.

"Mama and I are not speaking," she explained, breaking his gaze and looking away.

"What happened this time?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. But please. Just tell Marmaduke he is overreacting. We can leave tomorrow, don't you think?"

"Rosamund," Robert started a bit more gently, "I don't think so."

"Well you're no help either," Rosamund huffed. She turned to Cora, who only shrugged her shoulders in agreement with Robert, and frowned again before rushing out of the room without another word.

"What on earth is the matter with her?" Cora asked, her eyes wide with confusion.

Robert shrugged. "You know Rosamund. She and Mama quarrel, they don't speak, and then are gossiping nonstop a day later. Mama probably said something to upset her. What happened this time, Marmaduke?"

Robert looked over at his brother in law and watched as his expression darkened momentarily. He caught himself, though, and quickly returned his expression to its normal calm. "I don't know. I am sure Rosamund is just overreacting," he replied quietly.

Robert was about to inquire further, but just as he opened his mouth, the reverberation of the dressing gong could be heard throughout the halls. He shrugged once more and took Cora's arm. Whatever it was, it would no doubt be argued about over dinner.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews for chapter 1!


	3. Day Three

_February 2__nd__, 1892_

Violet had been pacing the library all afternoon. Patrick, unable to deal with her, had wandered upstairs and left her alone. The room was silent, save for her soft movements across the carpet and the crackling of the fire. Staring out the window, she watched as the snow _continued _to fall. It had gone on like this for nearly three days now, and if it did not stop soon, they were likely to all be trapped in this god forsaken house for all of eternity.

When Violet had first married Patrick Crawley and moved to Downton, she had been utterly intoxicated by the grand staircases and rambling hallways. The house had seemed so expansive and endless. Each room held countless memories and shades of aristocracy and wealth. _Nothing succeeds like excess,_ her mother in law used to say. Downton was built on excess, certainly, but there were other factors at work as well and years of inhabiting Downton had made her wiser. For all the rooms in the house, it never felt quite as small as it did when there was conflict. The pain one feels at times is only intensified when settled in the expanse and emptiness of a grand house. There had been countless storms and times when they were all stuck inside together for a few days. This time around, though, the tension was palpable in every room, every hall, and each staircase. No one had said anything yet, but Violet knew it was only a matter of time before someone in the family bubbled over with cabin fever.

Violet turned to the doorway and had a fleeting thought to go find Rosamund, but almost immediately thought better of it. Rosamund did not particularly want to see her, and well, she did not particularly want to talk to Rosamund. Her daughter had most unfortunately turned out far too much like her and it frightened Violet to see Rosamund as an adult, as someone whose pain she could no longer evaporate with a fairytale or kiss on the forehead. Rosamund was no longer a little girl and she was no longer interested in the opinions of others. But regardless of that, it was nearly dinnertime and so Violet sighed, exhaling the tension from her chest, and headed upstairs to change. Dinner last night had been a rather subdued affair, but she had the sneaking suspicion that the quiet tension would only remain quiet for so long.

A short while later, Violet found herself seated at the dinner table once more; an eerie calm seemingly blanketed over the entire group. Robert and Cora were seated at the end of the table, deep in some private conversation as usual, and both Patrick and Marmaduke seemed to keep their eyes fixed downward as they chatted quietly about some disgruntled tenant in the town. Rosamund and Violet, though, were an entirely different story. Violet watched throughout the meal as Rosamund refused dish after dish, course after course, opting instead to drink glass after glass of wine and champagne. Her liquid meal did not catch the attention of her father, but Violet watched curiously as Marmaduke stole concerned glances at his wife every few minutes. Rosamund miraculously managed to sit quietly, even with her considerable inebriation, but Violet was having trouble containing herself, now. Mirroring Rosamund's actions, Violet drained glass after glass of wine, unaware that one glass had quickly turned into nearly four.

She was not quite sure what game Rosamund was playing at, but Violet felt herself growing more annoyed by the second. She very much wanted to stand up and admonish her daughter; wanted to shout at her and embarrass her for behaving in such a careless manor. But she could not do that, because she knew very well that she was partly to blame for Rosamund's obvious unhappiness. And so, she continued to drink alongside her very unhappy daughter. Rosamund never looked her way, but Violet was absolutely sure that more than once, Rosamund was on the verge of tears. Rosamund was an excellent actress, much like her parents, and she could fool nearly everyone else beside her mother. She spent the entire dinner avoiding Violet's gaze and opting instead to make idle chatter with the passing servants or stare blankly into her champagne flute.

Violet was dying with the anticipation of confronting Rosamund with her behavior, but for some reason she was unable to make the first move, or to say something that would no doubt upset her daughter in front of the entire table. So, in her own intoxicated haze, Violet turned her attention to a much easier target.

Just as there came a lull in the conversation, Violet looked down the table to see her daughter in law staring up at her with a doe eyed expression that only Cora could wear. Cora quickly looked away and turned back to Robert when she saw Violet staring, but it was just too easy and Violet couldn't resist such an easy kill. She watched as Robert turned to Cora to whisper something to her. Apparently their side conversation was not as inconspicuous as they thought, though, because everyone noticed their soft giggles and amorous glances and Rosamund immediately remarked on it.

"Oh, look at those two. Just so romantic," Rosamund cooed from the other side of the table, finally looking up from her drink with glassy eyes and blushed cheeks. "Who would have thought they'd turn out to be the ideal couple?" She continued, a tone of slight teasing in her voice as she grinned widely at them.

Cora blushed considerably at Rosamund's words, and reached for Robert's hand with a grin. Robert was about to respond to his sister with some sarcastic remark when his mother interjected, finally making her move—

"Yes, how romantic." She said drily with a slight pause. She looked at the pair with a frown and just couldn't help herself. "What would be even nicer, though, would be to see the two of them with a child. Don't you agree?" She said sharply, looking over at Rosamund.

Rosamund's eyes flashed with a wild anger, but everyone else turned to Cora, who sucked in a deep breath at her mother in law's words. Cora's expression immediately darkened and she looked down at her plate in embarrassment. Rosamund began ranting about how it was absolutely no one's business, but Violet was several glasses of wine in by this point and so she had no trouble saying what had been on her mind for quite some time.

"I just think it is time something's been said, Robert." Violet explained, as she looked down the table at her son and took another long sip from her glass.

"Mama, this is a private matter and not dinner conversation," he replied quietly, trying not to embarrass Cora any further.

"Oh, come now. Let's not pretend we're not all thinking it. It's been three years now. Obviously something is wrong with her." Violet continued, rather loudly.

Cora looked up with a shocked expression, tears in the corners of her eyes, and a flush of embarrassment covering her face. "Excuse me," she mumbled, standing up shakily and rushing out of the room. Everyone else looked away uncomfortably and sat in silence for a brief moment before Robert, still stunned by his Mother's comment, stood up.

"Mama, that was most inappropriate." He said angrily, as he left the table and headed out of the room in the direction Cora had gone.

Rosamund, Marmaduke and Patrick all eyed Violet as Robert swiftly made his exit. Patrick looked as if he was about to shout, but his reddened face was the only thing that gave away the level of his anger. He said nothing and only glared at his wife, waiting until the room was more private. Rosamund was the first to stand, nearly flying out of her chair as she stumbled up with a fierce expression almost immediately after Robert left.

"You had no right, Mama. You _have_ no right!" She cried, throwing down her glass, before rushing out of the room as well. The glass of her champagne flute shattered all over the table in a most undignified manner, echoing down the hall along with Rosamund's unstable, drunken steps all the way to the second floor.

Marmaduke only shook his head sadly as he stood and followed after his wife a few seconds later.

Violet and Patrick were left alone, then, the shattered glass of Rosamund's champagne flute lying haphazardly between their plates. Patrick sat for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, before finally looking back up with a fair amount of disdain. "Violet, you never could hold your liquor. Or, your tongue." He frowned, rolling his eyes in disgust, as he stood from the table and walked out, leaving his wife without another word. Violet listened as he trudged up the stairs. She listened for another moment before hearing the slam of a door—the door she knew, all too well, that led to her husband's dressing room. Violet slumped slightly and looked around the room. Napkins were flung all over the table and the glass of the shattered flute glittered along with the candles in the middle of the table. It was a fine mess, and a mess Violet knew, even in her claret induced fog, was not going to be easy to clean up.

* * *

Robert found Cora in their room in a state he had never quite seen anyone in. He had nearly run up the stairs, knowing how upset he would likely find her, and his imaginings were spot on. Cora was lying on their bed, clutching a pillow to her chest and sobbing. Her slight figure moved violently with each choked sob and he knew that his wife was close to breaking right there in front of him. Cora was lovely and kind and intelligent but she was not brought up for a life like this—a life of duty and guilt and resentment. Robert had tried to stave off all the concerns of his mother, and father, for as long as he could, but he knew they had been wearing on Cora for quite some time. And now, as he watched his wife sob and her arms reach out desperately for him, his heart nearly broke with the pain of it. They sat entwined for a long while, Robert soothing Cora with murmured assurances and gentle touches, and Cora desperately trying to stop the sobs that wracked her body. Finally, the tears did slow and she looked up to meet her husband's tender gaze.

Cora opened her mouth to speak, ready to apologize and brush away the overt display of emotion that she knew always made him a bit uncomfortable, but to her surprise, Robert pressed a kiss to her cheek, muffling her words against his own cheek. He produced a clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket and proceeded to wipe away the tears with gentle strokes, keeping his eyes locked on hers for a very long time. The way he looked at her, the way she knew he adored her, was enough to make her cry again, but holding on to his hands she knew that it would not do any good for her to do that. She needed to be strong. They both needed to be strong. Before losing the will to fight and the will to be strong, Cora looked up at her husband with entreating eyes—

"Robert, I know three years could be considered a long time, but—I—I don't think we should worry about it yet." She said quietly, looking at him for some sort of reassurance.

"No, no of course not," he agreed. But as he spoke, Cora watched his face and immediately knew that his words betrayed his thoughts. She could read her husband better than anyone, and her heart sank with the sudden realization that she was in fact the only one in the house that was not worried about children—or the lack of children. She looked up once more as he continued to speak.

"Perhaps we could have Dr. Collins come by to make sure, though. He's the new physician in the village and I've heard he is quite good." Robert continued, in a voice so tentative she further realized that he had been giving it a fair amount of thought, and had probably been mulling over their options for days, perhaps even months, without saying anything to her.

Cora's eyes immediately narrowed and she pulled her pillow protectively to the front of her chest and clutched it tightly, snapping both her hands out of her husbands grasp. "Why?"

"Well, I suppose three years is a long time and we would rather know sooner than later, right?" Robert could not hold her gaze any more. She watched as he looked away, down at his hands and toward the floor. Cora felt a fleeting sadness at his inability to face her, to face _their _issue, but the one resounding emotion that she felt was much stronger and much different than sadness. Cora suddenly felt quite _angry_.

"Know—know what?" She questioned, still looking at Robert through narrowed eyes.

Robert sighed slightly and finally looked back up, seemingly both surprised and concerned by his wife's angry expression. "I only meant—well, I only think that we should know sooner than later if there aren't to be any children," he murmured softly.

Cora watched the pain register across his face as he said the words aloud, but she felt nothing other than a burning anger, a deep resentment for the man sitting in front of her who was supposed to protect her; who was supposed to protect them both. But instead, he sat there with a sad expression telling her that he thought she was going to fail them both. The sudden urge that she had to slap him only frightened her and so Cora crawled to the other side of the bed and carefully extricated herself from the blankets before standing up to face Robert once more.

"Cora, you know I don't mean to suggest that you—"

"What, what don't you mean to suggest?" Cora interrupted, still standing with the large bed between them. She realized she was still holding her pillow and so she let it drop to the floor. It made a quiet thud that only highlighted the palpable tension in the otherwise silent room. They stared at each other for untold minutes before Robert finally answered her question.

"I do not mean to suggest that there is something wrong with…with…you." He looked at her once more with a slight frown, obviously wishing he was anywhere but trapped into having the one conversation he had so skillfully avoided for so long.

"Well, haven't you heard? Obviously there is something wrong with me. That fact was made quite clear several minutes ago, in the dining room, if you remember?" Cora smiled a sickeningly ironic smile, laced with bitter resentment and nervous tension. All she had wanted to do was curl up in bed, with Robert, and pretend that the evening had never happened. It was too late now, though. He just had to say something; he had to prove once again that Downton was in the forefront of his mind—in the place she often liked to think was reserved exclusively for her.

"Cora, darling, please." He paused to cross the room once more and reached for her hands—a gesture she strongly rebuked as she took two steps away from him. "Cora, there is nothing wrong with you. Of course there isn't. But would it not be best to ease your mind once and for all?"

"My mind is at ease, Robert. Yours on the other hand is an entirely different story, apparently."

"Cora, please. Don't be melodramatic—"

"Melodramatic?" It was the last intelligible word that Cora could fashion to speech before everything went red. He was standing there telling her not to be melodramatic? Well, she was nothing if not melodramatic by this point. This family, _his family_, had done this to her. They had made her paranoid and made to believe that all their futures rested on her shoulders. Was it not enough that she had saved them all once, already, with her fortune? They needed a child now, and as desperately as she wanted to please them all, it was proving a most impossible task. A most impossible task that she was reminded of on an alarmingly frequent basis. Violet was no doubt to blame for that fact...

Turning slightly, the hideous ceramic vase on their nightstand caught Cora's eye. It was an anniversary gift from Violet. It was absolutely hideous, and Cora was inclined to think that it was purchased and given just so Violet could know that something that hideous had a place in their bedroom. Without thinking, Cora grabbed the vase and hurled it toward the wall, watching with pleasure as it sailed past Robert's head and crashed into the wall. Robert only stood, mouth agape, staring at the broken pieces on the floor as their shouting ceased and they were both suddenly swallowed in the utter silence of the room.

"Have you lost all good sense?" Robert cried, finally, his face turning nearly as red with anger as hers already was. "That nearly hit me!"

"Oh, please. Don't be so melodramatic," she mimicked back.

"Cora!"

"No, not another word," she shouted angrily, "just go."

"Go? Cora, where would you like me to go?"

"I don't care. Get out. Get out of my room and do not come back until you can look at me without that horribly patronizing expression and sorry excuse for support."

Robert only stood still and stared at his wife. Cora, though, was quite serious in her direction and she began moving around the room, picking up Robert's dressing gown, slippers, book and pillows from the bed. Hurling them all in his general direction, she pushed past him and rushed into the washroom, slamming the door behind her.

Robert turned to face the closed door and listened as Cora began to sob. He approached the door, and knocked quietly. "Cora, please…"

"I said get out!" She screamed so loudly that he nearly jumped right out of his skin. Shaking his head in resignation, Robert gathered his things off the floor and left their bedroom to instead spend the night in his dressing room, contemplating what on earth had just occurred.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Marmaduke asked, frowning with concern as a resounding shattering noise came from the direction of Cora's bedroom.

Rosamund, who was lying atop their bed with a damp cloth draped over her eyes shook her head and mumbled, _no_ before groaning with pain—a headache already setting in. They were both dressed for bed, but Rosamund had pleaded for some dry bread, water and a cool cloth for her forehead. She could normally hold her liquor better than most, but for whatever reason she was having a most difficult time as of late. Marmaduke, of course, was happy to fulfill her requests and was now just sitting and reading a bit before bed. The shattering noise had jolted him from both his book and his thoughts, though.

"It sounded like something fell. Should we go check on them?"

"Marmaduke, Cora can handle her husband," Rosamund chuckled. If something had been thrown, it was no doubt by Cora. Rosamund knew very well that Robert would never do anything to hurt his wife. Cora, on the other hand, had no qualms about expressing displeasure and so she was likely doing so at that very moment. And if Cora had hurled some object at Robert, well, he probably deserved it.

Marmaduke sighed, sitting down beside his wife. He removed the cloth from over her eyes and looked down at her face, smiling softly when her blue eyes locked on his. She smirked and crooked her finger at him, indicating that he should lie down beside her. Happily complying, he rested back against the pillows and took Rosamund in his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips—which tasted like the inside of a wine decanter. He chuckled softly as she tried to begin undoing the buttons of his pajama shirt, but she was having a most difficult time due to her considerable headache and lingering intoxication. Marmaduke stilled her hands and looked back into her eyes.

"I think we should talk about what your mother said at dinner," he murmured softly, running his hand gently up and down her arm. Rosamund, whose eyes had been shut, sat up immediately and looked at her husband sternly.

"No." she said simply, leaning into him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Rosamund…"

"I said no," she repeated, tightening her grip on him slightly. Her tone was one of cold indifference, but if he knew how nervous she suddenly felt, he likely would have pressed her for more. But, sensing his wife did not wish to talk about the matter any further, he only pressed another kiss to her cheek before turning to blow out the candle on the bedside table.

"I only worry what we will find come morning," Marmaduke whispered into the darkness of the room.

Rosamund did not answer. She only buried her head against his chest and shut her eyes a bit tighter.


	4. Day Four

_February 3__rd__, 1892_

Robert Crawley was experiencing utter bliss. He thought Cora had been rather upset with him when she ordered him out of their room, but apparently the entire situation had been one big misunderstanding. She had come to him soon after, seeking him out in his dark dressing room, and pulled him back into their bedroom, whispering apologies as she nearly threw him onto the bed.

He sat stock still against a mountain of pillows, leaning against the headboard, watching with a wide-eyed expression as Cora sat at the foot of the bed, grinning mischievously. She allowed a low, throaty giggle to escape her lips before gazing at him once more through lowered eyelashes as she began to play with the neckline of her nightdress. Her fingers edged around the delicate fabric for tantalizing untold minutes before she finally locked her eyes on his once more and gathered the silky fabric in her hands, pulled it up over her head, and let it float to the floor in a graceful heap.

Cora's bare skin glistened against the soft candlelight of the room and her eyes held a devious mirth that betrayed the innocent facial expression she was attempting to maintain. Wordlessly, she crawled up toward the head of their bed to meet his waiting expression. Robert knew he must have looked like a giddy schoolboy, but he did not care much and as soon as Cora's lips pressed against his neck, any coherent thoughts seemed to disappear from his mind altogether.

Cora still said nothing but hummed with pleasure as she undid the buttons of his nightshirt and allowed their bare skin to meet—a feeling that made Robert gasp with pleasure as he felt the lower part of his anatomy tightening in response. Cora only smirked at his groans and allowed her hands to slowly sweep downward, grasping him more intimately.

His wife's touch and intense gaze were enough for Robert to lose the last grip he had on his senses. The feeling of her soft hair as he ran his hands through her loose curls and the smoothness of her skin as his fingers trailed down her sides was his undoing. He groaned once more as Cora continued to tease him, refusing to let him move beyond the random involuntary twitches of his body, as she kept at her attentions. After a few moments, Cora leaned up to kiss his lips gently, smiling against his kiss as his tongue met hers. Finally nodding her assent, Cora moaned as Robert grasped her hips and attempted to turn her slightly.

Robert could feel her hips against his palms and could hear her murmured insistence for him to hurry up. Just as he moved to turn her more completely and move himself above her, he suddenly felt very unsteady. For a single dizzying moment, he felt his grasp on Cora loosen and he tumbled right over her, past her, out of the bed, and on to the floor. Groaning with a much different sort of pain, Robert hit the floor with a thud and Cora was suddenly silent.

He felt the room stop spinning, though his head was pounding, and he thought he had landed on top of Cora's discarded nightgown, as he felt soft fabric against his cheek.

Opening his eyes, Robert blinked a few times in confusion. He was indeed lying on the floor wrapped in soft fabric, but it was not the soft fabric of Cora's delicate nightgown. Robert was lying on the floor, wrapped up in the tangled bed sheets of his tiny dressing room bed. He blinked once more, desperately wishing that _this_ was the dream, but he nearly sobbed in frustration upon sitting up and realizing that he was still in his dressing room, banished from his marital bed and banished from indulging anything remotely akin to what he had just dreamed up.

His head hurt terribly as he picked himself up the floor and peered out the curtained window. The sun was just rising and the snow had stopped. Though the driveway and paths were all blanketed with a thick layer of precipitation, it looked rather magical, as Cora always said, and it seemed a more enticing prospect than returning to a cold and empty bed. And he very much needed some cold air, as although his encounter with Cora had been only a dream, his body had reacted in a much more _realistic_ manner. He felt rather overheated. Hastily throwing on some clothes, and not bothering to ring for his valet, Robert trudged out past Cora's door and down the stairs, intending to take a very long walk outside.

* * *

At the other end of the hallway, Rosamund woke up with a similarly sore head. Her head, though, was aching for a very different reason. As her eyes cracked open she silently cursed alcohol of any sort, along with her family whose presence had been driving her to drink so much. Rolling over slightly, she was surprised to find Marmaduke already awake and staring at her.

"What on earth are you doing?" She murmured, brushing the hair out of her face and pressing against her husband's chest.

Marmaduke only chuckled at his wife's tone, knowing exactly how awful she was likely feeling, before kissing her forehead softly. "I was just gazing at my beautiful wife," he replied quietly, reaching down to grasp her hand.

"Flattery will get you absolutely no where this morning. I feel absolutely terrible," she groaned, swatting away his roaming hands. Sighing, she settled back into his embrace and closed her eyes. Unfortunately for Rosamund, though, her husband had very different plans for their morning.

"The snow finally stopped," Marmaduke remarked, just as soon as Rosamund closed her eyes. But upon hearing this piece of wonderful news, she sat right up and hopped out of bed to check for herself.

Pulling back the thick drapes, Rosamund grinned. The snow had indeed stopped. She turned to smile at her husband, but was confused to find his expression not nearly as gleeful as her own. Making her way cautiously back to bed, Rosamund sat beside her husband and kissed him, letting her fingers trace the outline of his jaw. A long moment later she pulled back, still smiling.

"Thank God," she exclaimed happily. "We can finally go home today."

Marmaduke sighed and frowned. "Rosamund—"

His tone immediately worried her, and she suddenly realized what he was trying to tell her.

"Rosamund, we cannot go back to London today. The snow only stopped a few hours ago. There is no way anything will be clear, at least for a few days."

"—Please, please do not tell me that," she finally replied in a soft, entreating voice.

"Rosamund, we must face the reality of the situation, now. We are going to be here for at least several days. And as such, we must talk to one another honestly. I need to know that you are alright."

"I am perfectly alright," Rosamund managed to croak out. Her voice sounded muted and strange but she was able to form that single sentence before pulling herself back into her husband's embrace. She knew that he did not believe her, but for now it was enough to stop him from pressing the matter.

"I think I'd like to go back to sleep," she murmured.

Marmaduke only nodded after a short pause, unwilling to force his wife out of bed. The extra rest could only do her good, anyway, and it was nearly early afternoon so it would not really matter at this point. Releasing her from his arms, Marmaduke watched as she rolled away from him and covered her head with the thick blanket atop the bed. Resignedly, he made his way into the adjoining dressing room to change for the day. He could make excuses for Rosamund to stay in bed, but it would not put him in anyone's good favor if he were to hide away upstairs all day as well.

After changing, Marmaduke was on his way down to the library when he ran into Cora, who appeared to be heading in the same direction.

"Good afternoon, Marmaduke," Cora said. She smiled at him gently, but it was belied by the obvious sadness in her eyes.

"Hello, Cora. Where are you headed?" He inquired, hoping to keep their conversation light. She already looked near tears and he most certainly did not want to be the one to put her over the edge. One look at Cora would suggest that she and Robert had a rather late night—a late night consisting of far less pleasant things than might otherwise keep a married couple awake late into the evening hours.

"I am just going down to the library." Cora replied. "I needed to get out of my room."

"I understand, and I admit I am on a very similar path," Marmaduke chuckled, opening the door to the library for Cora as they reached the entrance. He smiled at her conspiratorially before adding, "don't forget, I have been navigating my place in the family for five years now."

Cora smiled a bit more brightly as the two sat near the fireplace. Marmaduke opened his book and began to read as Cora busied herself with the needlework she had brought along from her room. He looked up at her with a sad smile as she settled into her stitches. He tried to read but a little while later, Marmaduke interrupted the easy silence of the room—

"Cora, may I ask you something?"

Cora looked up immediately, but saw that he was still looking at his page intently. So, she looked back down at her needlework before answering, "of course."

"Are you quite alright?" He looked up to meet her gaze.

She paused and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Perfectly alright. Why do you ask?"

"Why must you Crawley women tell me you're _alright_ when the very opposite is so clearly true?" He chuckled slightly and smiled reassuringly at Cora, who blushed and frowned down at her needlework.

"I'm not a Crawley, not really." Cora answered sardonically, rolling her eyes.

"I hate to break it to you, my dear, but I am fairly certain that is your surname."

"It very well may be, but you know just as well as I that they don't really want us here," Cora huffed, tossing the needlework to her side.

Marmaduke had chuckled at Cora's exasperated expression, but he quieted as soon as the words passed her lips. "Cora—" He leaned forward slightly and looked at her gently. "—I do not claim to know many things about family matters or affairs of the heart, and I was not brought up in this world, but if I do know one thing, it is that Robert is most lucky to have married you."

Cora smiled slightly but looked at her brother in law curiously. "Thank you, but I am afraid your words hold slightly less weight than if they had come from Robert," she explained. "He is just so…so…"

Marmaduke grinned. "You know he will never forgive me if he finds out I told you this—"

"—Told me what?" Cora interrupted.

"The night before your wedding, he was so very nervous," Marmaduke explained, "I decided that as his best man I should do something to help ease his nerves and so I smuggled a bottle of brandy up to his room after Patrick had sent him to bed. Well after the first glass he told me he was marrying _the most beautiful girl in the entire world._ After the second, he assured me that _Cora will make me happier than anyone else ever could._ After his third glass, I asked him how he was so sure about it all and he only grinned dumbly and said: _because for the first time I care and worry about someone other than myself and I want to make her happy."_

As Marmaduke finished his story, Cora pursed her lips in an effort to maintain her composure and stared down at her hands and her wedding ring. "He does make me happy," she finally murmured, looking back up.

"I know," Marmaduke replied. "But I also know the two of you are in a marriage with far more external pressure than Rosamund's and mine will ever have."

"Yes, well. That is what I signed up for, no?"

"That doesn't make it any easier, Cora."

Cora ran her hands over her eyes and forehead before sighing softly. "Thank you for saying that."

"Cora, you and I may not have been born here and they might tell us we don't understand things sometimes, but whether or not we like it, we are Crawleys now. So, we may as well all stick together."

Exhaling a long breath Cora stood with a soft giggle. "Yes, I think perhaps you may be right."

Marmaduke nodded and stood as well. "It will all work itself out. Don't let Violet get to you, Cora."

Cora nodded back and picked up her needlework from the settee. "I slept horribly last night, I think I will go rest for the remainder of the day. But, I will talk to Robert later," she added with a grin.

Cora was nearly out of the library before something popped into her mind and made her pause. Looking back into the room, she watched Marmaduke for a second before calling over, "Marmaduke?"

He looked up from his book once more. "Yes?"

"—Is Rosamund alright?"

His face fall slightly and he cleared his throat before smiling ever so slightly. "She is perfectly alright."

Cora, though unconvinced, gave him a small wave and closed the library door behind her. Resolving to speak to Robert later, after dinner, she felt a bit better already. They still needed to speak about it, certainly, but it was much harder to stay in a quarrel with Robert when she imagined him talking about her on the eve of their wedding. He always was extra charming and utterly adorable with a few glasses of brandy in him. Perhaps she could give him another chance to apologize, after all.

Cora had planned on spending the afternoon in bed with a book but had decided against it when she passed the small sitting room on her way up. The large windows offered a beautiful view outside and the snow was absolutely glistening in the soft afternoon sunlight. So, Cora decamped in the sitting room near the large window in the corner and spent the next several hours engrossed in her tattered copy of _Sonnets from the Portuguese._

By the time she made it through the text, Cora sat up from the small settee, looked at the clock in the corner of the room, and realized that several hours had passed and she was expected at dinner in twenty minutes. Rushing upstairs with reckless abandon, Cora barely made it up to her room without stumbling down the hall. When she arrived at the room, Cora was surprised to see neither Robert waiting to go down with her, as he always did, nor her maid waiting to dress her. Ringing frantically, Cora tapped her foot anxiously for nearly five minutes before Miss March came in with a slightly confused expression.

"You're late!" Cora exclaimed, already half undressed. She had attempted to remove her corset, but had been unable to reach the back ties. Robert was always good for that task, but she hadn't wanted to ask him for something like that until they spoke about their argument first.

"I'm sorry, Milady. I assumed you wouldn't want to change for dinner—"

"Why on earth would I not want to change for dinner?" Cora asked, shaking her head in confusion as she continued to try to reach the ties of her corset. "Oh, it's no use, can you get these please?" She continued, motioning to the corset.

Miss March nodded slightly and immediately began to untie the knots at the back. "I do apologize, Milady," she said once more as Cora changed her undergarments and held her arms up for her dress to be slipped over.

"It's fine—though I still don't understand where you would get the impression that I would not be dining with my family," Cora replied.

"I, well I—I just assumed what with Lord Downton—"

Cora's eyes narrowed slightly. So apparently her maid even knew about their argument? No doubt Violet had said something, or one of the other servants perhaps. Cora hated knowing that what went on inside her bedroom was considered salacious fodder for everyone else. With a rather annoyed tone, Cora cut the maid off, "—In future, please do not assume anything my eating habits."

Still looking confused, although Cora had no idea why, Miss March only nodded slowly and stepped away from Cora's hair. Cora gave her one last stern glance before grabbing her gloves and rushing out of the room. Thankfully, she was just on time and so she slowed her gait as she reached the bottom of the staircase; as the last thing she wanted was to be caught running into the dining room by Violet.

Cora made her way into the dining room and sat in her usual seat, though she froze for a moment when she realized both Robert and Rosamund were not present yet and that Patrick, Violet and Marmaduke were all staring at her confusedly from their own seats.

Cora's face flushed slightly, as she knew her hair must have been out of place, and she reflexively smoothed her hand over her dress to make sure it hadn't been ruffled on her way down. Nothing on her seemed out of place but everyone was still looking at her.

"Where are Rosamund and Robert?" Cora asked, looking down the table at Marmaduke.

Cora watched as shock registered across her brother in laws face. He immediately stood up from the table and looked at Violet. "You didn't tell her?"

Violet only glanced at him passively and took a sip of her wine. "Do I look like a messenger? I told one of the maids to go find her hours ago. Though, it is not my fault if they failed to follow my instruction."

"Good Lord, Violet." Patrick replied, looking at his wife. "Would it have killed you to go find Cora yourself?"

Violet didn't respond and only rolled her eyes in response.

"—What is it?" Cora asked, worriedly. "Has something happened to Rosamund?" Cora frowned deeply. Rosamund had not looked at all well the night before and she had been sure something was bothering her.

"Cora—" Marmaduke began, but Violet cut him off.

"Rosamund is fine. She is in her room sleeping or sulking for whatever reason."

Marmaduke narrowed his eyes at Violet, but held his tongue and looked back at Cora. "Cora, Rosamund is fine. But…Robert. He came back from a walk outside a few hours ago and he is not at all well. He has quite a fever and has been rather sick since his return."

Cora felt the color drain from her face and she gripped the table as her legs suddenly felt less sturdy. "Where is he?"

"They put him in one of the guest bedrooms; it's warmer than his dressing room. We won't be able to get a message to the doctor until morning, as it is dark now and the snow has picked back up again," Marmaduke explained quietly.

"I see. Thank you," Cora mumbled, turning on her heels and rushing out of the room. This time, she could not care less whether or not Violet watched her run and she picked up the hem of her gown and ran up the stairs to find her husband. Cora flew up the stairs and down the hall, throwing open the door to each guest room until she finally heard the muted voices of Carson and one of the maids coming from the other end of the hall. She brushed past the two of them, as they were both standing outside a guest room with concerned looks painted across their faces, and pushed open the heavy door.

"Oh, Robert…" Cora nearly cried out upon seeing her husband. He looked absolutely awful as she approached the bed. He was covered with several blankets and looked far too pale. She pressed her palm against his forehead and felt it burn against her skin. Very slowly, Robert opened his eyes and looked up pitifully at her.

"Cor—" He began, but was interrupted with a fit of coughing.

"Oh, my darling. I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," Cora interrupted. Tears were already leaking from her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Robert extricated one of his hands from the mountain of blankets atop him and reached up to brush them away.

"Please don't cry," he murmured, reaching for her hand. "I will be fine, but don't get too close. I don't want you getting sick."

Cora wiped away the remaining tears and stroked Robert's cheek, letting her fingers trace over his jaw and cheeks and forehead for several minutes. He looked exhausted and his eyes were already closed; he seemed to be settled quickly into sleep by her touch. Cora knew she should comply with his request but she could not bear to leave him in such a wretched state. So, instead, she unlaced her shoes, kicked them off, and curled up beside him. She wrapped her arm around his waist and the heat of his skin could easily be felt through his nightwear. It worried her, but Cora tried to push any negative thoughts from her mind and only wrapped her arm around her husband a bit tighter.


	5. Day Five

_February 4th, 1892_

"What do you mean, we cannot get the doctor to come?"

Violet blanched as a somber faced Carson stood before her explaining the situation. Normally quite good in times of crisis, Violet felt herself grow a bit lightheaded as she sat down to process the latest piece of news: Robert had not improved at all overnight, as she assumed he would, and his temperature was still quite high. She had not gone to see him yet, as sickness and being outwardly compassionate were never her strong suits, but she had instructed one of the maids to give her an update of his condition every thirty minutes. This had gone on nearly all morning until the latest update, where Carson appeared in the doorway to her sitting room looking rather grim.

"Well, Milady, as the snow has not let up, it would be impossible to get a carriage all the way to the village. Even to go on horseback would be quite dangerous, as there is little visibility, the snow is already quite high, and there are many trees down," Carson explained quietly. He took in the concerned expression of Lady Grantham and could tell that she was rather worried. She frowned deeply and looked out the window to observe the storm, sighing softly when she saw the flakes still falling heavily. Finally, after a long moment, she turned back to face him.

"Has anyone told Lady Downton, yet?"

"No, Milady, Lord Grantham just made the decision not to send anyone out to the village."

"I see. Well, I will tell her myself." Violet stood from the settee, nodded slightly at Carson and hurried out of the room. She made it out of the sitting room, across the main hall and halfway up the staircase before she had to stop—unable to continue upstairs, she paused to take a deep breath, wipe the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and swallow the lump forming in her throat. Assuring herself that her son would just have to be alright, she looked up the stairs and began the walk to his room again.

Violet was in a fog until she made it nearly half way down the long corridor and saw two of the maids, the two commissioned to care for Robert, standing outside his room talking quietly. They appeared to be quite carefree, and were both grinning. That is, they were grinning until they realized who was approaching the doorway.

"Is there some reasonable explanation for why you both are out here gossiping about some undoubtedly trite subject rather than caring for my ill son?" Violet inquired, her gaze boring into the two young women who faltered under her question.

They both blushed deeply and stammered excuses before one gathered up the courage to respond properly. "Lady Downton dismissed us," she murmured, gesturing toward the door.

"She dismissed you?" Violet frowned confusedly for a second before composing herself and waving the maids away with strict directions to return in ten minutes. She clicked open the door to the room and peeked around the corner, stepping in with slight trepidation.

As soon as Violet entered the room, she quite wished that she were still back in the sitting room. The bedroom was stiflingly warm, as the fire was blazing in an attempt to keep Robert warm, and the curtains were almost fully drawn so it was not very bright. Looking around, her eyes settled on the bed where Robert was asleep beneath the covers. Violet could not help but step back slightly when she realized he was not alone in bed, though. Cora was lying beside him, her arm wrapped around his waist, and her head pressed against his back. Even more horrifying, Cora appeared to be only wearing a nightdress, so she had apparently spent the night there. It was a far more blatant expression of love than Violet was used to. She considered backing out of the room and rushing away but quickly remembered the purpose of her trip upstairs. So, she cleared her throat loudly and waited a moment.

She averted her eyes as Cora's blinked open and she sat up slowly.

"Good morning." Cora mumbled, brushing her hair out of her face. She didn't bother looking over at Violet for more than a second, and instead reached over to feel Robert's forehead. Violet watched as Cora's expression fell slightly, upon realizing that he still had a fever.

"Cora—" Violet interrupted, looking back to her daughter in law.

"Yes?" Cora looked away from Robert and reached for her dressing gown that had been discarded at the bottom of the bed. Wrapping it around herself snugly, she looked up curiously.

"You dismissed the maids earlier this morning?" Violet asked.

Cora frowned before nodding. "Yes, they were not needed. I am caring for Robert myself."

"Yes, well…" Violet paused again, suddenly feeling that rather inconvenient lump forming in her throat once more. She had no idea why, really. Robert was still fast asleep and she had barely even spoken to Cora. There was no sense in losing a grip on one's emotions. But looking down at her daughter in law, who looked so very tired and young and worried, Violet found herself biting her lip in an attempt to maintain her expressionless visage. And, Cora was still staring up at her so she cleared her throat once more and said nothing else about Cora's odd decision to dismiss the maids.

"Cora, it seems that we will be unable to send for the doctor today."

"What?"

Violet paused to look more fully at her son. He was bundled beneath several blankets and had been changed into his warmest pajamas. Someone, most likely Cora, had placed several of his favorite novels on the bedside table, along with a pitcher of water and some dry biscuits that looked untouched. His face was pressed into a slight frown and she could hear each breath he took, as each breath seemed slightly strained and as though he might break into a violent cough at any moment. Pulling her eyes away from his face, she looked back at Cora's waiting expression.

"It seems as though it will be impossible for anyone to make it off the property and down to the village. The storm is just too bad right now. We—we do not have a choice," Violet explained quietly, gazing beyond Cora and looking out the window.

"No, no I do not accept that!" Cora exclaimed, sitting up more deliberately and standing from the bed. "He needs a doctor!" She continued, motioning down to her sleeping husband.

Violet sighed softly and walked over to the other side of the bed where Cora was standing. Tentatively, she reached out and placed a hand on Cora's arm. "Cora, dear, we do not have a choice," she repeated.

Cora shook her head and pulled her arm away. "No! That is impossible. It's only _snow_," she exclaimed, drawing back the drapes and pointing out the window. Her expression fell when she saw the storm raging outside the window and the covered paths. Still, she shook her head as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

"I'll go—I can go," Cora offered, looking back at Violet hopefully.

Violet held her tongue and refrained from making a biting remark about the utter impropriety of the suggestion and instead placed her on Cora's arm once more. "No, Cora it is not safe for you to go out, either."

Crying more freely and pacing the room, Cora looked over at Robert and pulled her arm away from Violet once more. "I can go," she exclaimed again, "I can ride a horse. Robert taught me, and I know I can. He taught took me riding and showed me how to sit properly and how to command the horse and he showed me the paths in the woods, he—"

She had continued to pace frenziedly around the room but stopped mid sentence as her body became more wracked with sobs and she nearly doubled over with the realization of it all. "He—oh, God. I can't. I _need _him."

Violet did not respond—because really, there was no response that would soothe her daughter in law, and because quite honestly, she wanted to go too. She knew logically that her husband had made the proper call; that the staff could not be sacrificed in an effort to get the doctor, but looking at Robert she failed to understand how Patrick could possibly consider any decision _but_ sending someone for the doctor.

As Violet stood and watched her son, Cora crawled back onto the bed and wrapped her arm back around Robert, still crying, as she pressed herself against him. "Please, please send someone for the doctor," she whispered, not bothering to look back at Violet.

Violet nodded at Cora's back and turned to walk toward the door. "I'll see what I can do," she murmured, clicking the door shut behind her son and daughter in law.

* * *

Very quickly, Violet summoned everyone down to the library. Patrick had begrudgingly abandoned his paperwork, Marmaduke had complied without much question, and he had dragged Rosamund down along with him. Violet had tried to reason with her husband, hoping that Marmaduke and Rosamund would back her up, but the library was eerily quiet as no one spoke up to defend her position.

"Patrick, we must send for the doctor if he is not improving. He has a very high temperature." She insisted, glaring at her husband.

Patrick only rolled his eyes and looked at Rosamund and Marmaduke as well. "Oh, you've been taking his temperature, then?" He asked. "Violet, you know as well as I do that we cannot send one of the servants out in this storm. We cannot risk someone's life—"

"What about Robert's life?" Violet interrupted, in a tone far louder than she had intended. "What about our _son_," she added, lowering her voice slightly to a more acceptable volume.

"Robert will be just fine, you are overreacting."

"I am never overreacting when it comes to my child, Patrick."

"Oh, Lord. You've got quite a flair for the dramatic this morning. Violet, please be reasonable. I am not sending out any member of the staff in this weather unless it is absolutely necessary. If Robert's condition worsens then I will reevaluate."

"Well, I am quite glad _you_ are on top of the situation," Violet replied bitterly, rolling her eyes before hurrying angrily out of the library.

Rosamund and Marmaduke only exchanged a concerned look as they watched Patrick exit the opposite end of the library, obviously annoyed by Violet's little meeting. They had both considered defending Violet, as they were worried about Robert, but they knew that Patrick was right—getting to the village would be a most treacherous undertaking.

"Mama will be even more insufferable than usual," Rosamund remarked once her father exited the library. "There is nothing she hates more than being told off in front of others."

Marmaduke chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around Rosamund's shoulder. "But do you really think your mama was wrong?" He asked.

Rosamund paused for a moment. "Well, no. I suppose not. Though, who knows why she is acting like such a nursemaid all of a sudden. It is not an inherent trait of hers."

"Rosamund…" Marmaduke scolded lightly, "it is perfectly normal for her to worry about Robert's health—"

"Yes," Rosamund interrupted, "because she worries about the wellbeing of her children, often?"

Marmaduke frowned deeply at her words and removed his arm from around her, taking in her expression, which was full of resentment. Rosamund pursed her lips and took a long breath.

"Rosamund, I thought you said you didn't want to talk about it?"

"I _don't,_" she replied firmly. Without another word, she stood up from the settee and wandered out of the library, not bothering to look back. Marmaduke sighed deeply and settled back against the chair, knowing it would do no good for him to go after his wife for a little while.

* * *

Cora, meanwhile, was still playing nursemaid upstairs.

The fire in Robert's room was roaring and so the entire room was extremely warm, blanketed in the heat and soft glow of the flames. Cora couldn't bring herself to move from beneath the blankets, though, because she was still pressed against her husband, reaching up to feel his temperature against his forehead every few minutes. If Cora was completely honest, she really did not know what exactly she was checking for each time she pressed her cool palm against his warm face, but she did know that the fact that he was still so warm was not a good sign.

Each time she checked and was met with a still-warm forehead, she felt more and more useless. So finally, instead, she took to running her fingers through his hair instead. He seemed soothed by her touch, as he turned slightly toward her, and after a few minutes Robert opened his eyes, looking around confusedly.

Cora sat up immediately and removed her hands from his hair. "Robert? How do you feel, Darling?"

Coughing slightly, Robert looked around once more and tried to sit up but felt utterly drained of energy. "I feel…ill," he murmured, his voice run ragged from coughing.

Cora nodded and ran her fingers up and down his arm soothingly. "Let me get you some tea," she offered.

"No, no. I just want to sleep," he replied quietly, leaning back into his pillows.

Wordlessly, Cora lay back down and wrapped her arm across her husband's chest once more. He tried to murmur something, but it was lost in the hoarseness of his voice and so they lay silently, both quickly falling back asleep. She knew what he tried to say, anyway, because she had learned to read his lips each time he said those particular words. Even though it was lost in the murmur of his illness, Cora knew that the three lost words were _I love you._

Several hours later, Cora woke to Robert looking at her, smiling softly. They were both still lying in bed, but Robert looked as though he had been awake for a while already.

"Are you alright?" Cora murmured, reaching over for him.

Robert coughed slightly before nodding and taking her outstretched hand. "Fine, I'm just fine," he said, coughing once more.

Cora could tell he was still anything but fine and just did not want her to worry too much, but she did not press him further and instead sat up, reaching over for the pitcher of water. She poured him a glass and handed it to him, watching him drink before she spoke again.

"I am still angry with you, you know," she explained, conversationally, looking over at him with raised eyebrows.

Robert frowned and nodded as he set the water glass aside and looked back to his wife. "I know you are. And I know we must talk once I can finish a—" he paused to cough again, "—finish a conversation without hacking in such a horrid manner," he added.

"You're going to be alright, aren't you?" Cora asked softly.

Robert's face fell slightly but he nodded. "Of course I am. You won't be rid of me that easily," he teased.

Cora frowned deeply and felt her eyes welling up with tears again. "Please do not talk like that," she murmured, pressing herself into Robert's embrace. Quickly understanding that his condition was still worrying her, he wrapped his arms securely around her and murmured gentle words against her cheek.

"You should rest," she finally instructed, reluctantly pulling herself from Robert's embrace. "I will ring for some broth to be brought up. You need to eat, too."

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for taking care of me even after—even after we fought so terribly."

Cora offered him a small smile and leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. "I love you, Robert. I will always take care of you, even when I want to wring your neck."

They shared a small smile at her remark before Cora finally stood and moved to leave the room.

"I will be back soon," she explained. Robert only smiled up at her and so she left the room, letting the door click gently behind her. She needed to change into some fresh clothes, and she wanted to give the kitchen staff a detailed list of what she wanted prepared for Robert to eat. After ringing for her maid and changing into something suitable for the late afternoon hour, Cora found herself almost all the way to the main hall when she saw Rosamund scurrying out of the library with an armful of books.

"Rosamund—" she called.

Jumping slightly at the sound of someone behind her, Rosamund turned quickly and was visibly relieved to see that it was only Cora. She adjusted the large stack of books in her arms as she wandered across the hall to meet Cora.

"Cora, I'm glad to see you downstairs. How is Robert?" Rosamund inquired, still shifting the books in her arms around.

"He is doing alright, I suppose. Though his temperature is still rather high," Cora explained with a slight frown.

Rosamund frowned as well, but quickly buried her concern and smiled instead. "He is strong and I am quite sure he will be good as new come morning," She said, decidedly.

Cora smiled a bit at the sureness in her voice, as she knew that Robert was quite strong, but her smile darkened slightly when a book at the top of Rosamund's pile caught her eye.

"Rosamund, are you feeling quite alright?" She asked worriedly.

"Yes, why ever would you ask?" Rosamund replied quickly.

"It's just—well, you're holding a copy of the _Woman's hand-book in health and disease._"

Rosamund blanched and tried to stuff the book beneath the others that she was holding, but it was far too large a pile and she dropped the entire stack across the floor. Blushing, she kneeled down to pick them all up, murmuring something about needing a servant to carry them for her.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Cora prompted, surveying the books scattered across the floor.

"Yes, Cora. I just found some books in the library that I thought could help Robert," she explained, her tone becoming a bit sharper as she picked up the remaining volumes from the floor."

"Oh. But these are all books about women's health," Cora replied, confusedly.

Rosamund's face blushed bright red and twisted into a frown. "Cora, didn't anyone ever tell you that it is impolite to question people?" She huffed.

"I'm sorry," Cora murmured. "I'll leave you, then." Embarrassed at being chastised by Rosamund, the one person in the family beside Robert who always seemed charmed by her inquisitive American nature, she hurried off down toward the kitchen, hoping to avoid any more run-ins with any other Crawley family members.

Rosamund, having picked up her remaining books, watched Cora scurry off toward the kitchen before heading back upstairs. She walked carefully down the halls, being especially careful not to run into Marmaduke or, God forbid her mother, and made her way to an empty guest bedroom, locking the door behind her.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! The book mentioned in italics is a real medical book written in 1886 by Lucien Calvin Warner.


	6. Day Six

A/N: I apologize for the length of this chapter. It got away from me and I couldn't bear to cut it.

* * *

_February 5th, 1892_

Cora had continued down to the kitchen after her odd run in with Rosamund but upon finally making it downstairs she was most dismayed to find that everyone but two lone hall boys had gone to bed. It looked as though she and Robert would be eating the dry biscuits left for him, after all. It was rather late, and so she knew there was only a small chance of having anyone to prepare something more substantial, anyway. Handing a note on which she had written a few instructions for the cook, she left it with the hall boy in the hopes that come morning there would be a good breakfast waiting for the two of them.

Cora paused in the doorframe to take in the sight of her husband once she reached the room they had been decamped in since Robert took ill. She was pleased to see him sitting propped up against several pillows but his eyes were closed and he still looked worse for wear. His pajamas had not been changed for nearly two days now and so they had become quite wrinkled. The worst was the smell of the oils his mother had insisted on having rubbed on his chest, though. Violet had swept in with some bottle retrieved from the servants and insisted that it had been used on Robert on Rosamund when they were younger. It was alleged to improve the symptoms of a cough but so far all it had done was make Robert smell positively awful. Cora wanted to open a window to air out the room but she knew someone would have her head if she dared to let cold air into the room where Robert was supposed to be convalescing.

As if she had been staring too loudly, Robert opened his eyes and turned his head to look over at her. Smiling slightly he looked down to see that she had returned empty handed. "I take it we were too late for dinner?" He chuckled softly.

Cora nodded, rolling her eyes in feigned annoyance. "Yes, apparently they have all forgotten about us."

"Would you like to sit with me, then?" Robert asked.

"No, but I would like to help you into some fresh nightclothes and perhaps wash up a bit," she replied with a mirthful smile.

Robert frowned slightly and looked down at his rumpled clothing and then over at the half empty bottle of oil on the bedside table. "Ah, I see. It is as bad as I remember, then? I cannot really smell anything at the moment," he explained, pointing to his congested nose.

"Count yourself lucky," Cora laughed, nodding empathetically. "I will be back in a moment.

"Where might you be going now?"

"To get supplies," Cora replied cryptically, nodding once more before closing the door behind her.

Robert leaned back and closed his eyes once more, waiting several minutes until he heard the turn of the doorknob once again. He watched Cora wander into the room with an armful of his things. She walked over to the bed and dumped them unceremoniously at his feet, the contents including: fresh pajamas, his favorite slippers, a bar of soap and some feminine looking bottle that was most certainly not his.

"Well, shall we?" She asked, motioning toward the washroom door.

Robert agreed and stood, feeling a bit unsteady on his feet as he stretched out his arms and legs. Following his wife into the bathroom, Robert watched as Cora eyed the sink for a moment before having a better idea and turning her attention to the bathtub. She worked methodically and turned the tap, feeling to make sure the water turned warm, and plugging up the bottom. She waited a moment before fishing out the feminine looking bottle from her things on the floor. Opening it, she let a few drops fall into the water and the tiny drops quickly produced bubbles as they met warm water. The room filled with a fragrance Robert was quite familiar with—Cora's lavender perfume. Even through his congestion he could smell faint notes of the delicate perfume she always wore and although he did not particularly have any desire to smell of his wife's perfume, Robert was soothed by the scent and by Cora's presence so he was not about to argue the point.

Cora watched the tub intently and waited until it was nearly full before shutting it off and turning around to meet Robert's waiting expression. "You need to undress," she said, looking at his pajamas.

"Yes, I know." Robert replied, unbuttoning his shirt. As much as he wanted to pretend that he was feeling much better, he was having a bit of trouble keeping up his energy. Just standing out of bed for several minutes had made him incredibly tired and he was getting increasingly frustrated with himself as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt for several seconds.

Cora saw he was struggling and reached out to still his hands with her own. "I can do it," she murmured. She made quick work of his buttons and helped him shrug the shirt off once they were all undone.

Robert thought he saw a hint of mischief in her eyes when the shirt dropped to the floor, but not wanting to press Cora's mood, as he was already incredibly lucky she was even taking care of him at all after their argument, he remained silent and only smiled as he removed his trousers and stepped into the bath water. It was much warmer than when he normally took a bath and the fragrant perfume Cora had dropped in was actually quite nice. Robert leaned back against the tub and let out a long sigh. Feeling his muscles relax, he closed his eyes for a moment until he heard a noise from the other side of the room. He watched curiously as Cora dragged a chair from the corner over and sat herself beside the tub, remaining silent but looking down at him with a soft expression.

"I want to help," she explained.

"You don't have to, I will be just fine." Robert very much wanted Cora to stay and help but he was still rather uncomfortable with being so reliant on her and did not know if it was too much to ask of her, anyway.

Cora was undeterred, though. "I want to help," she repeated, her tone more serious than before. Not waiting for him to argue further with her, Cora picked up the bar of soap she had brought and began running it across Robert's back, slowly so as not to miss any inch of him. They were both quiet as her hands ran up and down his back, working the bar into a lather before cupping warm water with her hands and letting it wash away the soap. Robert hummed with pleasure as the warm water hit his back and he leaned forward slightly as Cora continued her work, letting the bar run across his neck and then down his arms. He was nearly lulled to sleep by the warm water and her gentle touch, but Cora's voice interrupted the quiet of the room.

"I need you to turn around so I can wash your chest," Cora said, blushing slightly. Though she had seen Robert's bare chest countless times, it still felt rather odd being this close to him, doing such an intimate task, while not actually being intimate. Robert complied and turned slightly to face her more fully. Tentatively, Cora reached out and took the sponge that had been floating around the bath. She lathered it with soap before pressing it against Robert's chest and rubbing gently. She felt awkward for a moment, washing him like that, and not quite sure whether or not to make eye contact or simply stare at the muscles in his arms or the outline of his ribs. But, after a few seconds of silence, Robert chuckled, immediately relieving her of any tension she had been feeling about the entire situation.

Laughing, Robert splashed her as she moved to wash the soap away from his chest. "I'm sorry," he managed to get out above his chuckles, " I was just thinking how much better this is than when I used to receive help with my baths from the nanny or governess."

Rolling her eyes, Cora washed the rest of the soap off his chest before smiling in response. "Well I am pleased to hear that I am an improvement over your nanny."

"Oh, trust me, my dear, you most certainly are. I think Nanny secretly hated Rosamund and I, as the bath water was always frightfully cold and she took great pleasure in dumping cups of water over our heads. And, she was not nearly as lovely to look at as you are," Robert added, grinning mischievously.

"I know what you're up to, Robert Crawley. And don't think I've forgotten that I am still angry with you," Cora chuckled lowly. "Now, lean back a bit," she ordered.

"Fine," Robert replied, pouting a bit as he slid back until his back hit the wall of the tub. "Aren't I done now?" He asked.

Cora shook her head and reached down to take something out of the pocket of her dress. Pulling her hand back up, she smiled at the look of utter confusion on Robert's face when she opened her hand to reveal his straight razor.

"Why on earth do you have that?"

"Have you looked in a mirror? You look as though you spend your time on the streets of London," Cora replied, raising her eyebrows.

It was true, Robert had not shaved in over three days and so he did not look his usual polished self. Violet had tried to send his valet in with shaving supplies and fresh clothing the previous day, but Cora had shooed the man away, not letting him get anywhere near Robert. He had still been quite sick and the last thing she wanted was for him to be subjected to adhering to silly things like dressing properly and shaving when he could barely lift his head from the pillow. But now that he seemed to be improving, it would not do to have him looking so unkempt.

"But you didn't bring the shaving brush or mug," Robert replied uneasily. "And I honestly don't know if my hands are steady enough to shave, Cora."

"Oh, you're not going to do it." She replied calmly, adjusting herself in her seat.

"Then why did you bother bringing the razor?"

"I'm doing to do it," she explained brightly, lifting the razor up excitedly.

Reflexively, Robert backed to the edge of the tub with weary eyes. Cora had many virtues; she was kind, she was intelligent and she had a wonderful sense of humor. She was beautiful and clever and had a knack for reciting poetry with perfect intonation. Cora _was _many wonderful things, but she was often overly excited when she had what she believed was an excellent idea. Cora's excessive enthusiasm often lead to minor accidents, and looking at his clearly excited wife, razorblade in hand, Robert felt a bit nervous.

"I think perhaps I should wait for Carson," Robert murmured.

"Oh, come now. Why should you wait for your valet, when I can just do it now?" Cora argued, still holding the razor up excitedly.

Pausing, Robert slowly nodded in silent agreement. "Alright, then." He murmured, edging closer to her side of the tub. He supposed he owed her this one indulgence. After all, she had cared for him day and night, barely mentioning the horrid argument they had. And she did look ever so excited about the whole plan. He cleared his throat, coughing slightly, and nodded once more.

Cora grinned at his agreement and stood from her chair. Pushing it to the side, she knelt on the floor so she was level with Robert's face. She set the blade down on the floor carefully and reached for the soap that had floated to the bottom of the bathtub. Robert had to suppress a groan as Cora's hand brushed past his groin as she fished the bar out of the water. He would much rather participate in activities of that sort than what they were about to do.

Looking intently at Robert's face, Cora studied her subject for a long moment before finally lathering the soap in her hands and brushing the soapy contents across Robert's cheeks, jawline, and just below his chin. She bit her lip and stared for another moment as she reached for the blade and tried to decide just how to start. Carefully, Cora finally brought the straight razor to rest against his cheek. She nearly giggled and dropped it right into the water when Robert winced visibly at her touch. He was adorably nervous, though he was keeping his composure rather impressively.

"Don't move, now," Cora instructed, bringing her other hand up to his face to steady him.

"Alright," Robert replied quietly, trying desperately not to tremble. He had closed his eyes, but he cracked them open slightly and saw that Cora was watching him with an amused expression.

"I am not going to hurt you," she teased.

"Let's just get it over with," Robert murmured, closing his eyes again.

Cora nodded and brought her attention back to his face. Picking the blade back up, she pressed it gently against his cheek and pulled it down as she had watched Carson do a few times. Robert was still tense under her touch but he did not move an inch as she dragged the blade down the length of his cheek and then pulled it back to inspect her work.

"It worked!" Cora exclaimed. She dipped the blade in the bathwater to clean it before getting back to work. She let her other hand rest against the back of Robert's head to keep him steady and she worked slowly, both thrilled at the prospect that she could use a straight razor and terrified at the possibility of hurting Robert in the process.

As she continued across his face, Cora became more confident in her movements. Robert seemed to be more relaxed as well, as he had stopped involuntary wincing every few seconds and he had even opened his eyes again.

Robert was in fact much more relaxed. As worried as he had been at Cora's shaving capabilities, he was rather enjoying the whole process. Cora's hand had remained on the back of his head to keep him from moving and she had absentmindedly been stroking the hair at the back of his neck for several minutes. Each time she would shave a line of hair away, she would run her thumb over the smooth skin to make sure she had not missed anything. Cora's hands were always much softer than his own and her touch was gentle. Robert relished in the feel of her fingertips against his skin and the closeness of her to him. She was only inches away from his face and so he passed the time by studying the details of her face—the redness of her lips was a more blushed red up close and he could look up into her eyes and study them for as long as he liked without notice because she was working so intently on the task at hand. Robert felt his chest constrict slightly as he looked at Cora and remembered, as he seemed to remember each day, how beautiful she was and how in awe he was that she was his wife.

Cora finished with a final turn of her wrist and looked back at Robert's face with utter satisfaction. She had done a perfect job. Grinning, she dipped her hands in the bathwater and brought them to his face to wash off the remaining soap. Robert leaned into her touch and smiled back, humming softly against her palm. He reached up and his hand encircled her arm. Turning it over, he kissed the underside of her wrist and looked up at her.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, brushing his hand across his now smooth cheek. He certainly felt more put together than he had in days. He also felt an incredible amount of gratitude for his wife. And, most unsurprisingly, having Cora so close and her hands on him for such an extended period, he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms right there on the bathroom floor. He had been sick for nearly three days now, not to mention the huge mess after dinner with his mother a few nights earlier, and he was not used to being so distant from Cora. Very rarely did they go more than a day or two without making love and he had not slept in his dressing room in over two years—save for three nights earlier.

The washroom was silent and neither Robert nor Cora spoke for several seconds, until Robert realized he was still holding tightly to Cora's hand. Murmuring an apology, he released her from his grip as she moved to stand up. Smiling up at her from the tub, Robert could not help but consider the possibility that Cora would perhaps want to bathe as well—

"You could get in, if you wanted?" Robert questioned, attempting to suppress a grin. His grin, though, was quickly lost when he saw Cora's expression to his question. She looked rather un-amused, in fact, and like she wanted to dump a cup of water over his head. He heard her mutter "_incorrigible"_ under her breath before handing him a towel.

"I will wait for you in the bedroom," Cora added, turning on her heels without another word.

Cora was sitting on the edge of the bed with pursed lips and a pinched expression when Robert emerged from the washroom wrapped in a towel. He would have much preferred to re-emerge in his nightclothes, after being so swiftly rebuked only moments earlier, but Cora had left his fresh pajamas out in the bedroom.

"I—I'm sorry," he began awkwardly, as Cora stared at him and his towel, "I did not mean to upset you—well I know you're already angry, I didn't mean to upset you further, I—"

Cora's expression softened as Robert continued his ramblings, but she finally interrupted him with a raise of her hand. "Please, Darling, stop."

Bewilderedly, Robert nodded. "Right. Alright. Sorry," he added quickly.

"I just don't want you to apologize, not really, anyway."

"You don't want me to apologize?" He replied, still bewilderedly standing there in his towel.

"Well, no. You didn't do anything wrong, not really," Cora murmured, looking down at her hands.

"Cora, I do need to apologize for the way I spoke to you, but perhaps I could change before offering you a proper apology?" Robert smiled and looked down at the towel once more, and then back up to Cora who was finally grinning as well.

"Alright, then," she conceded. Picking up the fresh pajamas from the bed, Cora stood and walked over to Robert, swiftly undoing the towel around him and letting it drop to the floor. She looked up at him through lowered eyelashes and grinned at his attempted self control as she helped him step into the trousers and then into the shirt. Slowly buttoning each small button, she took her time and pressed her palms against his chest when she finished, leaning up to place a kiss to his cheek before stepping back.

"So may I apologize now?" Robert asked softly, still feeling the tingle of having Cora's lips pressed against him.

"No, perhaps later. I am rather hungry," she explained.

"I could ring, but I don't know what the hall boys would be able to supply us with at this hour."

"I'm going down to the kitchen to get us something to eat, I cannot wait until morning, and I've eaten enough of those awful dry biscuits they've been feeding you," she replied.

"Let me come with you?"

Cora shook her head. "You'll have me in a world of trouble if your mama finds out I let you out of bed," she laughed. "Wait for me here, I will be back soon."

"Wait, Cora—" Robert called out as she headed toward to door. Meeting her midway across the room, he smiled softly at her and leaned down to kiss her cheek, letting his lips linger a moment before drawing back. "I love you, Cora."

"I know you do," she answered softly. She looked up at him with a curious expression; looking almost happy, but as if the edges of her happiness had been tinged with a greyness she could not quite shake off.

She pressed her hand into his for a long moment and then let go, heading off to the kitchen for something to eat.

* * *

Cora made it to the kitchen without waking anyone up—a success she thanked God most readily for, for if she had woken anyone up, well, if she had woken Violet up, she had no reasonable explanation for being in the hall in the middle of the night in only her nightdress and dressing gown. The kitchen was eerily silent and far too dark. The one small oil lamp she had 'borrowed' from the hall on her way down was not nearly bright enough to light the entire room, and so Cora felt her way around the dark staircase down to the kitchen and made careful steps once she finally found the right direction.

She sighed happily in victory. "_See, Cora? It is just a silly dark room. Nothing remotely interesting or frightening about a silly dark room," _she said quietly, feeling a bit jittery at being all alone and so far away from Robert and everyone else. Brushing off the feelings, though, she set to poking around the cabinets looking for something suitable to eat. That is, until—

There was a slight movement in the corner of her eye, coupled with the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. Cora jumped nearly ten feet in the air. She shrieked, too, but covered it with her hand so as not to wake everyone.

"Cora, darling, you must learn that you are almost never alone in this house."

"Oh, God, _Rosamund—" _she hissed, "you frightened me!"

"I frightened you?" She asked, lighting the small oil lamp that she had beside her. It illuminated the room just enough so that Cora could see Rosamund, in her bedclothes, sitting at the table in the kitchen with a large plate of chocolate biscuits in front of her. Though, from the sight of the crumbs around her, it looked like she had perhaps been there for a while.

"Yes, you did. What on earth are you doing down here sitting in the dark?" Cora exclaimed, sitting down beside her.

"Oh, I am just contemplating the vagaries of life," she replied dryly, popping another biscuit into her mouth.

"Oh, I see. Well…are you alright?" Cora asked gently, placing a hand on her arm.

To this, Rosamund chuckled sardonically and looked at Cora with an almost wild expression. As if finding her in the kitchen in front of a plate of food was not evidence enough that perhaps she was not alright. It was classic Cora, though, to sweetly inquire about the obvious and attempt to patch things up with a cloying smile.

"Is something wrong?" Cora prompted, rather unnerved by Rosamund's laughter.

"I think I am." Rosamund replied after a moment, her odd laughter ceasing altogether. "I think perhaps I am," she murmured once more, as if contemplating the fact and finally deciding that it was valid.

"Oh, Rosamund—" Cora breathed, reaching out again to grab her arm.

Rosamund had already stood, though, and so she easily evaded Cora's grasp and attempt at comfort. "Goodnight Cora," she replied abruptly.

Cora only watched as Rosamund took her lamp and left, walking softly up the stairs.

* * *

"I've just had the oddest exchange with Rosam—" Cora began as she walked softly back into the bedroom. She looked up, though, to find Robert sprawled across the bed and fast asleep, already. Setting down the cakes she was able to find in the kitchen, Cora tiptoed to the unoccupied side of the bed and sat quietly, watching Robert sleep.

Each of his breaths sounded so peaceful, even with the slight rumble of a lingering cough in his chest, and Cora could not bring herself to wake him just yet. She leaned over to study his face and couldn't help but grin at the silly expression he wore as he slept. He always looked younger when he slept, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Cora was anything but naïve and she knew it wasn't the case; she knew that Robert had more cares than most men his age, and their current predicament was no exception. Oh how she wished it had been easy—marrying Robert, having lots of little sons running around the house and a family who found her upbringing charming. Instead, she had fallen for Robert far before he had for her, and she had walked down the aisle on her wedding day, knowing his expression was not one of nervous excitement, but one of fear. She had no sons, or daughters, and the absence of children's little feet running down the hallways or giggling in the vacant nursery haunted her more frequently than she was willing to admit. And his family, _her _family now, seemed to find her equal parts fascinating and irritating, depending on whom you asked.

But Cora's thoughts were interrupted by Robert coughing slightly and stirring in his sleep, so she brushed away the residual worry that had been lingering and took the opportunity to wake him.

"I brought you some cakes," she whispered against his cheek.

Robert opened his eyes and grinned. "Apple?" He murmured, clearing his throat and sitting up.

Cora nodded and handed him a plate. They sat quietly and ate their cakes on the large bed. The both seemed engrossed in the task of eating and it was a long while before Cora finished her food and turned to Robert.

"I suppose I was so angry with you because you made me remember that we can not pretend. We cannot be unrealistic about all this," she explained, calmly.

Robert, seemingly surprised by her admission, set his plate aside and turned to take her hands into his own. "I don't think you're being unrealistic, Cora."

She smiled weakly and shook her head. "I think I am. Or, at least, I think I was. We can go see the doctor when the storm clears," she whispered in a small voice, looking down.

Robert knew the words hurt even coming out of her mouth. He watched the pain register across her face and he instinctively squeezed her hands tighter. He hadn't wanted this; he never wanted to make Cora feel badly. He wanted children, needed them, he supposed, but at what cost? Looking at his wife, the realization that perhaps it would cost more than he was willing to pay overwhelmed him.

"Cora, I just want to say—"

"No, please let me finish," she interrupted. "I know we need some sort of plan."

"A plan?" Robert asked, frowning in confusion.

"Yes," Cora managed to choke out. "A plan for if we find out that I cannot…" She paused, sucked in a deep breath and looked up at Robert, hoping he would understand so that she would not have to actually say the words.

Robert cleared the plates away from their bed and immediately took Cora into his arms. He laid them down against the pillows and covered them with a blanket. He pressed a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek, and then more tentatively to her lips.

"We do not need a plan," he finally murmured.

Cora looked up with tears in her eyes and tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but Robert held her tightly in his arms and looked right into her eyes. "But, we do," she whispered. "We do need a plan. Let's not pretend—"

"You." Robert interrupted.

"What?"

"You, Cora Crawley, are my plan. I don't want another plan. I want you. You and I are the plan. And do not say anything else, because it is not a matter up for discussion."

"Robert, I—"

"Nothing else," He whispered, pressing his lips to hers again, more deliberately this time. "Now, I'm not going to do that again because I don't want you sick…" he whispered, finally pulling away.

"Ok," Cora murmured against his neck, curling her body to his, and quite unable to say anything else. She reached up to wipe the lingering tears in her eyes and allowed herself to just be close to her husband. Perhaps a bit naïve after all, she believed that he would make everything all right.


	7. Day Seven

A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating the story!

* * *

_February 6__th__, 1892_

Rosamund had been hopeful the day before. Hopeful that the storm was finally winding down, as it had not snowed for most of the day, and hopeful that she and her husband would finally be able to get back to London and back to their lives that were separate from her family.

As she sat up in bed, though, she was perturbed to find the snow once again falling and her husband fast asleep beside her. Pushing him awake, she sighed loudly as he sat up and followed her gaze out their window.

"I see it is still snowing," he murmured, rubbing his eyes and putting an arm around her waist.

Rosamund shifted away from his grasp and turned with an irritated expression. "Why yes, it is. Thank you for pointing that out." She replied sharply.

Marmaduke simply chuckled softly and leaned back against his pillows. It never did him any good to engage Rosamund when she was in a particular sort of mood. He found it much easier to wait until she wanted to talk. Clearly, she still did not want to.

"How about a walk? I could use some fresh air," he finally suggested, sitting up and getting out of bed.

Rosamund, still looking vaguely annoyed, glanced up at him blankly. "I'd rather not."

"We cannot stay inside for days on end. I fear I might go crazy," he laughed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Rosamund shifted away again, though, and continued to look out the window.

"Fine, I suppose a walk might be nice," she conceded.

"Perfect, I shall meet you downstairs in a bit," he replied, moving toward the dressing room. He waited for Rosamund to nod slightly in agreement before he left her to change.

Rosamund met her husband at the base of the main staircase nearly an hour later. He looked as though he had been waiting a while, as he was tapping his foot in that way that always suggested he was bored, and he was all bundled up for the cold weather. He had on his heaviest coat coupled with the expensive leather gloves she had purchased for him last Christmas and the most hideous knitted hat that he always insisted on wearing. She had half a mind to simply dispose of the horrid thing, but she knew how he loved to wear it each winter. When he looked up and saw her trudging down the stairs in her own winter ensemble he grinned widely and held his arm out for her.

"You look lovely, like a snow angel!" He exclaimed.

Rosamund held back a biting retort and simply smiled at her husband's enthusiasm. She took his bundled arm and let him lead her toward the doorway. Just as they made it to the entrance, he paused in thought and turned back toward the stairs.

"How is your brother? Should we have asked him and Cora to join us, if he is well enough?" He asked.

Rosamund shook her head and a small grin escaped her as she looked toward the staircase. "No, I don't think they would be interested in coming," she replied cryptically.

Marmaduke frowned, "why not?"

"Well, I think Robert is nearly recovered and I may have been behind them on my down here; they were in the hallway on their way back to their bedroom. I shall not mention what I heard Cora whispering to him as she pulled him into the room," Rosamund giggled, a wicked smile now fully formed.

Marmaduke rolled his eyes and gripped his wife's arm a bit tighter. "Let them be, Rosamund. They've had a hard enough time lately, they deserve to have a bit of fun."

"We all have a hard time. It's the life we were born into, after all." Rosamund replied. She looked up at her husband and suddenly felt the urge to cry; the urge to hold him close and make him promise that everything would be alright, but that was not her—she could not afford to lose her composure now, lest she never regain it.

"Shall we?" Marmaduke questioned, not responding to her rather dark assessment of their lives. He smiled slightly but it was tinged with the knowledge that his wife was not quite alright and was refusing, yet again, to tell him so. But Rosamund nodded silently and so he adjusted his hat and they walked outside to greet the storm.

They walked for a long while until they were quite far from the house. They could see it in the distance, as it was nearly impossible to walk far enough away so that it was out of sight, but it was small now, and far less imposing. It was midday but the snow was still falling and so the sky was a rather dark greyish color, with hints of sun peeking out from various cracks in the clouds. They had stayed silent for most of the walk, with Marmaduke only questioning if Rosamund needed to take a break every so often, but she declined each time.

Rosamund had been leading them along some made up path, since everything was covered completely in snow, and it was only after an hour or so that Marmaduke realized that not only were they quite far from the house, they seemed to be off the property completely. Rosamund was still walking as determinedly as ever, and he suddenly realized that it was not a casual walk in the snow that she had wanted.

"Rosamund," he stopped short, forcing her to skid slightly in the snow. "Where are we walking to?"

She looked at him incredulously for a brief second, as if trying to decide whether she should lie or not, but she sighed softly in defeat before answering him. "Just to the village," she explained, nodding in the general direction they had been walking.

"Why?" He asked simply, still standing in place, not allowing her to continue along.

"No reason, I just thought it would be nice to have a destination, rather than a random trudge through the snow," she replied calmly.

"Rosamund—" this time his tone was warning, and he saw a flash of guilt across her face.

"We're nearly there," she replied, looking away and taking his arm once more. When he didn't respond, Rosamund took that as his assent and so she started walking once more, leading them along with her particular destination in mind.

She wasn't lying when she promised that they were nearly there, wherever she meant _there_ to be, and only a quarter of an hour later, she stood with a wide grin in front of the village pub. "Come on, then. Let's go inside," she said, tugging her husband's arm.

Marmaduke stood outside the pub trying not to overreact. He looked at his wife's face though, an expression of utter triumph at the prospect of successfully escaping the house, and he was having a hard time remaining calm.

"Rosamund," he said gently, "why are we here?"

She looked at him confusedly and grabbed the hand he had loosened from her arm. "To have a drink," she replied. "And perhaps if the snow gets too bad we can just stay here for the night, instead of walking all the way back."

And then, her true motive was clear. Marmaduke frowned deeply and released her hand. "Rosamund, no." He said plainly. "We are not staying the night here."

It was still snowing, quite hard in fact, and so before she could protest, he took her hand and led her inside the pub and set her down at a small table tucked in the corner of the room. "Wait here," he murmured, returning a few moments later with two glasses of cider.

Rosamund looked down at her glass, then up at her husband with a sad expression. "Why can't we stay just one night?" She asked softly, looking as though she had all the fight knocked out of her.

Marmaduke took a long sip of his drink before responding. "Because we haven't told anyone where we walked off to and it would be rather irresponsible of us to have them believe we'd simply gotten lost out in the storm. I won't have a search party sent out just because we decided to run away for a little while."

"We ran away?" Rosamund asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, we. You and I. We are together, are we not?" He replied.

"Of course we are," she answered. "I thought you'd be angry—and I'm sorry for not telling you. I just—I just needed to get away for a bit."

"I know," he murmured, taking her gloved hand in his own, and gently undoing the buttons for her, "I know…"

He finished her first glove and moved to the second, silently undoing the buttons and sliding them off. "Rosamund—" he finally continued, "we cannot just run away, Darling."

He looked up at her as she nodded slowly in agreement. She opened her mouth to speak but he watched as she closed it again, her eyes suddenly turning red as a few tears made it past her nearly impenetrable wall of emotion. "I'm sorry…" she managed before the tears began falling steadier, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize, please, don't apologize." Marmaduke stood from his chair and pulled Rosamund up with him. He said nothing else but held her close, stroking her hair as she sobbed against his shoulder. He knew it was a rare happening, Rosamund allowing herself to feel anything remotely painful, and so he only wanted her to know he was there; that he would always be there.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the house, it was as though the storm had caused time to stand still. The sky was nearly the same shade of grey at all times of day and so it was almost impossible to determine whether it was early morning or late afternoon. So, everyone seemed quite out of sorts and had seemingly lost hold of their normal routines. It was mid afternoon, and the Viscount and Viscountess were nowhere to be found, as the servants had so quietly gossiped. Cora was not in her favorite seat in the sitting room, stitching quietly, and Robert was absent from his usual place in the library as well.

Robert, having near fully recovered from his illness, was lying in his wife's arms. His nightclothes had long been discarded on the floor but the fire had been relit in their room, both literally and figuratively, he supposed, and so they were both content to lie their in their lack of clothing. Cora had suggested they move from the guest bedroom Robert had been convalescing in, back to her bedroom. It had been several nights of sleeping in the uncomfortable guest bed and they were both quite ready to reacquaint themselves with more familiar surroundings.

So they had packed up Robert's belongings from the guest bedroom and made their way back to their bedroom, Cora whispering some most unladylike promises and suggestions all the way back. Robert had readily taken her up on her offer and they had ended up spending much of their afternoon in bed.

Robert thought Cora had fallen asleep since the room was peacefully silent and had been so for quite some time, but his wife shifted pronouncedly against him and he turned to meet her watchful eyes. She smiled softly at him, in the way that was always his undoing, and let her arm stretch out and rest across his stomach.

"Robert?" She murmured.

"Yes, Darling?"

"I—I'm sorry, I have to ask," she replied tentatively. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

Robert carefully extracted himself from Cora's arms and sat up against the headboard before turning back to look at her. He pulled on his dressing gown and handed Cora hers. He watched her slip it on before pressing a kiss to her lips and pulling her close to him. He held her gently and let his thumb stroke across her cheek as she sighed softly against his chest.

"Yes." He replied simply.

Cora, seemingly surprised by his uncomplicated response, only looked at him for a moment before speaking again. "But…you're quite sure? Because I would understand if you—"

"Cora!" He interrupted, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "I told you this was not a matter up for discussion. We shall live our lives each day, together, and I will be very thankful that we have that privilege. We don't _need_ anything else." He explained, tightening his grasp around her and kissing her cheek.

Robert was used to Cora relaxing into his arms, clinging tightly when he held her, but this time she shifted to move away from his grasp. She looked uncomfortable and as though she had so many things she wanted to say but had no way of communicating them. She just looked at him for a long moment, studying his face and reaching down to still his hands that kept trying to reach for hers.

"What if we want something else?" She finally whispered. "What if I want something else?"

"—Something else?" Robert managed to reply, his voice sounding oddly strangled as he spoke. He had been a rather careful child and had never broken a bone, but he imagined the pain would feel quite like what he was currently experiencing. Cora's words ran through him like ice—more intense than physical pain but far less specific; a pain radiating through his entire body as he replayed each word over again in his mind. Something else…something…else? What else might she want? Another…doctor? Another…house? Another husband? He felt rather uneasy all of a sudden and he could feel his legs trembling a bit beneath the covers. Cora was still staring at him with a slightly confused expression, though, so he hoped that he did not look quite as ill as he suddenly felt.

He tried to reach for her hands again, as he needed something to steady himself. Cora was always the one who steadied him. This time she let him take her hands and he looked down at their entwined fingers. Hers were far more delicate than his— softer and far more delicate. She wore the wedding ring he had bought for her in London. His mother had insisted he give her a family ring but he refused—insisting that Cora deserved something of her own, something he had chosen for her. She wore it, very rarely taking it off, and it reminded him that they were not just the future earl and countess; they were also Robert and Cora who had begun their own story independent of the one being written for them.

Robert felt Cora's hands squeeze around his own and he looked up, realizing he had been lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, utterly embarrassed that his voice cracked even upon uttering those two words. "What were you saying?" He added, after taking a deep breath.

Cora looked at him strangely, still holding tightly to her husband's hands. He looked upset, far more upset than she anticipated. Robert rarely got upset. Angry, yes, but rarely this _upset. _"Robert, are you alright?" She asked.

Robert nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Fine." He released one of her hands so that he could run his own across his brow and he shook his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. "What else do you want?" He asked quietly. "Whatever it is you want—I—I will understand, whatever it is."

Cora frowned more deeply, no longer understanding what he was talking about at all. "Robert, I only mean…well, what if we do really want children? I know I certainly do."

"Oh," Robert responded. He felt the relief wash over his body just as quickly as the pain had rushed in.

Cora watched his face change from one of terror to relief in an instant. And she realized rather quickly what he had been thinking. She released his hands and brought hers up to cup his face, letting her thumbs run gently across his cheeks in the soothing back and forth motion that always made him sleepy. "My Darling," she murmured, pulling his head down against her chest, "don't you remember? _We_ are the plan."

Robert tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Cora's. He wrapped his arms around her waist once more and, for the first time in a very long time, allowed himself a bit of leniency and a bit of emotional relief.

He began to cry against his wife's chest and he let her hold him; let her run her hands up and down his back and murmur promises that everything would be just fine. And he let himself believe her, even though he knew they were promises she could never truly keep.

After a few minutes Robert was able to compose himself and he sat back up, letting Cora relax against the pillows beside him. "I want children too," he allowed himself to say. Their eyes met with similar look of fear but he continued, "I want our sons to learn to play cricket out on the lawn like I did. I want our daughters to take their tea with you and wear the jewels my mother will pass down. I want them to have your eyes and your smile and perhaps my love of books—but most certainly not my looks," he explained, smiling a bit wider.

"I'd like all that," Cora answered gently, smiling as well.

"—But if it's to just be us, the two of us, I will be happy all the same. We can go down to London to see my sister more often, or travel to see your parents. We can take longer walks or redecorate the house or do whatever it is you might like to do. I promise I can make you happy, Cora." Robert sat up a bit straighter, and leaned over to kiss her once more, sealing his promise.

"Well, if you promise…" Cora replied, relaxing against her husband. Perhaps he was right. It didn't sound terrible, the prospect of it being just the two of them. Robert was never one to say things he didn't mean and so if he believed it would be alright, perhaps she could believe it too, eventually. She wanted children, certainly she did, but if there were ever a thing completely out of her control, this would be it. Considering the possibility of just the two of them didn't sound utterly intolerable; in fact, it sounded rather nice, the way Robert seemed to see it. Somehow, it would all work out. She hugged her husband tightly and murmured a thank you before looking up at him with a far more relaxed smile.

Robert smiled down at her and shifted her slightly out of his arms. "How about we venture down to the library?" He asked. "I think I'd like to stretch my legs a bit."

Cora nodded in agreement. "You go get changed, I'll ring for March and get dressed too."

"Robert," Cora called out as he headed toward the dressing room. "It will be alright?"

He nodded without hesitation. "It will be alright."

* * *

After two glasses of cider had been drained, the Painswicks began their long walk back to Downton. They had sat in the pub quietly for nearly two hours, never really speaking but looking over at each other every so often. Rosamund, though quite embarrassed at her most public display of emotion, had never let go of her husband's hand, even after they sat back down. He never tried to release it, either, and he had been lazily stroking his thumb across her palm for untold minutes. After a long while at their little table in the corner, they had both looked up and nodded slightly, knowing that it was time to go back.

Their walk was largely silent until the house became visible once more. Rosamund clung to Marmaduke's arm as they trudged through the thick snow. Now late afternoon, the sky was a darker grey and there appeared to be much more snow than on their walk down to the village. But they continued to trudge along, not really caring about the snow or their damp clothing.

"Marmaduke?" Rosamund asked quietly, almost so quiet that it was lost over the crunching of the snow beneath their shoes.

"Yes?"

"Do you think everything will be alright?" She replied softly, stopping abruptly to look up at him.

He nodded, both concerned at his wife's expression and relieved that she looked to him for comfort. "Oh, my dear. Everything will be perfectly alright."

She pursed her lips and nodded slightly in agreement. They began walking again but a few steps ahead she stopped once more. "There won't be any children." She whispered, looking up at him once more, letting the words fall softly out of her mouth.

He shook his head and wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. "No. There won't be any children."

She nodded once more. "I know."

They linked their arms back together and kept walking, the house getting closer and closer with each little step. When they finally made it back to the house, Rosamund turned back to look at the long trail of their imprinted steps in the snow. But when she turned around, they were already gone—covered with the freshly fallen snow.


	8. Day Eight

A/N: I apologize for the delay! Thank you for all your reviews.

* * *

_February 7__th__, 1892_

Violet cornered her husband after a day of seeking him out all over the house. He wasn't in any of his usual places during the morning hours and when she arrived in the library for afternoon tea, she was perturbed to find him absent yet again.

She was well aware that he was avoiding her; he had been sleeping in his dressing room ever since her outburst at dinner a few nights earlier. But she was beginning to think him rather childish for holding onto some ridiculous anger for so long. Now she had him all to herself, the two of them alone at the vast and empty dinner table, and she intended to make full use of his presence and undivided attention.

"You have been busy," she noted during the first course, raising her brow slightly in question. Met with only a slight nod and averted eyes, though, she remained silent for the next two plates.

It was halfway through her chicken that she made a second attempt. "I suppose it has been snowing quite a bit?"

This earned her a bewildered look and roll of the eyes. Her husband said nothing beyond a murmured _"obviously" _before returning to his meal.

Silence reigned until dessert when she launched a final crack at it. "Perhaps the children are avoiding me as well?" She glared across the table this time, setting her cutlery primly on the table before meeting her husband's angry gaze.

"Well, Violet, I would say that is a good possibility. Considering you verbally assaulted Cora the last time she was seated here, I assume she prefers the quiet respite of eating without you present." He attempted not to raise his voice and instead settled on an icy tone eerily similar to the one she often used.

She knew she had his attention then.

"And Rosamund? Marmaduke? What is their excuse?" She was goading him now; acutely aware that his shoulders tensed upon her words and he nearly dropped his fork.

"Violet, don't—" He replied simply, staring intently at his pudding.

It was rather easy to manipulate ones husband, she mused, taking a long sip of water before painting an innocent expression on and looking at him with wide-eyed confusion. "Don't? Don't what?"

It was something in her tone, perhaps, that sent him over the edge. Flying up from his chair, the cutlery flew across the table, along with the delicate crystal wine glass in front of him. His face grew red and even Carson took a slight step back, out to the very edge of the room. "Violet, I warned you. I told you to never speak of our daughter and her acciden—"

"I merely want to know what their excuse for missing dinner is," she interrupted, relishing in the anger; silently rejoicing that he seemed to care about something beyond the various plates and decorations in the room around him.

He took a breath, suddenly aware that they were not alone, and shot a glace at Carson. When he spoke again, his voice was low and hoarse; his face twisted into something that resembled pain, or sadness. "If you cannot deduce why Rosamund chooses to avoid you, then you are not nearly as clever as I once thought you to be."

And without another word he left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

* * *

"How many more dinners do you think we will be able to miss under the guise of your recovery?" Cora questioned, peeking over the top of her book to look at her husband from across the bedroom.

Robert was reclined on their bed, engrossed in the novel he had snuck down to the library for. Technically, he was still on the mend, and on strict bed rest, but he had been allowed to make a few exceptions to the rule. Cora, meanwhile, was perched on the chaise longue in the corner, rereading one of her tattered Austen novels and admiring her husband with sneaky furtive gazes every so often.

"Perhaps one more?" His voice was light, but Cora knew him too well for that. The hesitance beneath his words bubbled to the top, and his eyes always belied any untruth he tried to tell her.

She watched his shoulders slump as his eyes turned back to his saved page. She hated when he tried to protect her only to his own detriment. He looked tired and as though he needed more than a book for comfort. At the very least, she could always comfort him.

"Robert?" She called across the room once more, setting her book on the floor, and drawing her knees up against her chest. He looked over with a smile, his eyes questioning. "Come sit with me?" She murmured; the words nearly lost beneath the crackle of the fire.

Robert nodded and picked up his pillow and book, padding over to her chaise with a sheepish look. "May I?" He asked, sitting on the edge.

Cora nodded and shifted to make room for her husband. The chaise was small, probably too small for the both of them but it always seemed to work well enough. Discarding his pillow, Robert slipped beside her, pulling the blanket over them.

Cora curled into Robert's chest, pleased by his little hum of pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his waist and ran her palms up and down his back.

The fire nearly died out before either of them spoke again, both content to bask in the peaceful warmth of their room and the closeness the tiny chaise happened to provide. But when Robert shifted in the way Cora recognized so very well, she could not help but let a small giggle escape her.

He smiled down at her, his eyes full of soft adoration and mirth. "Would you like to go to bed?" He murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead and grinning so widely it was plain that sleep was the very last thing on his mind.

"I'd rather not." She gazed up with a mischievous look before tugging at his nightshirt, undoing the buttons until she reached the very last one and was able to shrug it off his shoulders. Robert was rather adept at this little game and he set about removing his bottoms as Cora fiddled with her own buttons and ties, soon tossing her nightdress to the floor to rest beside his own discarded items.

They both dove beneath the cover of the blanket and shared a soft groan as bare skin met bare skin. Cora's, far softer than his own, never failed to quicken his pulse and as he set to pressing tiny kisses along the jut of her collarbone, he relished in the smoothness of his wife; the pale milky complexion that looked so lurid against the rough of his chest.

Cora shifted above him, letting his back rest against the chaise so that she could steady herself. A second later she dropped a bit lower, groaning when she felt him push into her. Robert dug his nails into the fabric of the chaise, desperately attempting to hold off the inevitable but failing as Cora moved rhythmically above him. When she leaned forward, pressing herself closer to him, a wave of pleasure flooded over him and he cried out; release was quick to come.

Cora followed a moment later, gradually slowing her frenzied movements until she caught her breath, allowing him to disentangle himself and sit up. He pulled her up against his chest and chuckled slightly at her rosy complexion and the satisfied grin on her face.

"Can I get you anything?" Cora's words hummed against his skin, her lips sending a slight chill up his spine. "I forgot, I am still supposed to be playing nursemaid."

"Darling, you are a most wonderful nurse," Robert assured, letting his hand slip a bit lower, just beneath the curve of her breast. He sighed contently, but perked up slightly as a fleeting thought crossed his mind. "There is one thing that could improve my evening…"

"Oh?" Cora shifted and eyed him curiously.

"I would love a glass of brandy," he smiled hopefully, biting his lip in the way she found utterly adorable.

"Alright, but only because I'm in a particularly good mood."

Cora slipped her dressing gown back on, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and grabbed one of the oil lamps from her bedside table. A quick glance at the clock showed it to be just after midnight, so the house was likely to be quiet, and the library unoccupied.

She snuck all the way down to the main hall and into the library without issue. The house was indeed silent; save for the usual creaks and such as she crept down the stairs. It wasn't until she was halfway across the library, brandy bottle in sight, that she realized she was not alone.

Rosamund sat perched by the window on the far side of the library, staring out at the softly falling snow. As Cora approached, the tears tracking down Rosamund's cheeks became visible. Her shoulders were shaking gently and she looked to be clutching something in her hand.

Cora considered backing out of the room and returning to her warm bed and husband. If becoming a Crawley had taught her anything, it was that if one wanted to discuss something, one would bring it to your attention. Inquiring about personal information and feelings was strictly frowned upon. But when Rosamund hiccupped, obviously short of breath and lacking in companions, she couldn't help but attempt to breach the walls of Crawley stoicism.

"Rosamund…" Cora spoke softly, approaching her side. She placed a palm on her sister in law's back and tried not to yip in surprise when Rosamund turned toward her and wrapped a shaky arm around her waist. "Can I…can I get you anything?" Cora, the warm and gentle one of the family, was unprepared for such an emotional onslaught.

Rosamund only shook her head, finally releasing her grip on Cora. "Would you like to hear a story?" Her voice was incredibly cold and terribly sad, impaled with the sum total of her emotions and unable to mask the pain she had become so adept at denying.

Cora nodded and took the seat beside Rosamund's. Not bothering to ask for permission, she reached for Rosamund's hand and pressed it tightly to her own.

And it was in the corner of the library, with Cora's hand for support, that Rosamund finally told her story.


	9. Day Nine

_February 8__th__ 1892_

There was something majestic about a great house in the winter. The bright snow reflected the sunlight in such a way that the house seemed to glitter all throughout the day. Downton was no exception to this rule, and the house looked beautifully inviting to anyone lucky enough to see it blanketed with the winter snow.

The storm had changed Downton. Not in a perceptible way, but just enough so that the inhabitants felt it. The chill of February air lingered in the halls and in the rooms, leaving them uncomfortably empty. There was so little sunlight that dawn and dusk seemed irregularly close together. And the beauty of winter was replaced with the dark and cold reality that beneath all the lovely snow were the dead leaves of fall and the dried buds of spring long past.

Rosamund sat in the library and let Cora hold her hand. She rather hated forced gestures of affection. She was not one to linger on sentimental whims nor was she one to dwell in the grey corners of her mind. There was no use in that. Past was past, and it was unchangeable; her past was set in stones as solid as the yellowed bricks of Downton and nothing could alter that.

Cora was sweet and kind. Her face displayed a youthful mirth not found in many English women, and her spirit was far brighter than most that passed through the house. Cora was a dear and the one person she felt would never judge her; never pretend to be kind, only to sneak around a corner and whisper cruel secrets about her to party guests. Cora would kneel on the floor before you; hold your hand as you cried in a most unladylike manner, all the while whispering soft encouragements in her candied American intonation.

And so there they sat, Rosamund leaning forward gasping for breath as she calmed her sobs, and Cora kneeling before her, grasping her hands tightly and promising that everything would be perfectly alright.

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," Cora offered, in a desperate attempt to say something useful. She was curious, certainly, but Rosamund looked the opposite of ready to talk, and she was not sure how long they could remain in the library without being happened upon by a curious hall boy. Rosamund was being rather loud.

Cora's soft, desperate words were enough to pull Rosamund from her self and look up from the floor. She studied Cora's expression for a moment, unsure of whether or not she wanted to upset her darling sister-in-law, the one person who saw the good in everyone and liked to wander around the house humming Robert's favorite songs.

She lived in a self-imposed exile now, a world that strangely paralleled her old one, yet felt remarkably different. Cora needn't be burdened with it.

"It's really nothing, Cora dear." She finally responded, her body still shaking slightly from the shock of emotions coursing through her. "It's a rather sad story, and I don't want to bother you with it all. I'm much better left to my own devices."

To her surprise, Cora seemed unfazed. She only held her hand tighter and smiled up at her. "I'm not a child you know. I've heard sad stories. I've lived sad stories. And it isn't a bother to sit with my sister and listen to hers," Cora replied. Her resolve was much stronger than her sweet expression and she remained motionless, waiting.

"I—I don't quite know where to…" Rosamund faltered under Cora's kindness, unsure of how to respond to such a foreign expression of emotion. The words, though, were unwilling to be pushed back down. No longer willing to be forgotten, or simply thought about, they wanted a listener.

In another surprising gesture, Cora stood and wrapped her hand around Rosamund's shoulder, nudging her up from her seat before grasping her hand again and leading her to the small window seat in the corner of the room. They sat, face to face this time, and Cora looked on intently.

"Cora, do you ever wonder if you made a mistake in marrying Robert?" Rosamund asked softly, curious what she might say.

"No." Cora replied. "I've never regretted marrying Robert. I may have wondered what _he_ thought of our marriage at first, but it doesn't matter now. I love him and I know he loves me."

Rosamund nodded, pursing her lips slightly and inspecting her hands. "And if someone told you it was a mistake, that your marriage was a mistake, would you listen to them?"

Cora frowned at her oddly detached tone and shook her head. "No, I don't think that I would. Why?"

Rosamund smiled sadly at Cora's innocent question. The one question that held the answer to so many more:_ Why?_ She would likely never know. But she suspected that was for the best. There was only so much a person should be able to know, and certain things are simply not meant to be known.

"A mistake is a funny thing, I suppose. I never used to think it was a subjective concept, but perhaps I've simply been mislead; taught the wrong thing. Perhaps if someone tells you that you've made a mistake, you ought to listen?"

"Rosamund, I don't understand—" Cora began, but Rosamund continued in her own meandering yet determined way.

"You see, you never plan for mistakes…or accidents. They just seem to happen. And if you've made one, are you then forced to listen to the ones around you? Do you lose your ability to make a sound decision once you've made a bad one?" Rosamund frowned, perplexed by her own question, but then lifted her head from the fog once more and looked at Cora. "We all must live with our mistakes, I suppose. But what about accidents? How do we live with those?"

Cora shrugged, feeling rather trite sitting there in her nightdress. The pain she felt in Rosamund's grasp and the pain she saw in her eyes was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It looked to be clutching her from the inside out, holding her so tightly that she was unable to scream.

"I don't know," Cora finally managed. "I think you just try to forget…or hope that things look better come morning."

"I don't think this will ever look better come morning." Rosamund replied, looking past Cora and out the window.

The snow had started up again.

"Do you remember when I had the flu several months ago?" Rosamund continued, still looking over Cora's shoulder, staring intently at the falling snow outside.

"Yes," Cora nodded, happy to finally supply a useful answer. "You missed that little dinner party Robert and I had planned."

"Yes. Well, I am sorry I missed your party. I'm sure it was lovely. But, I didn't miss the party because of a flu."

Cora frowned too, now, both confused and suddenly unsure of herself. The resolve with which she had firmly stood only a few moments earlier seemed to melt away and leave her there without protection. It was only she and Rosamund, and she was suddenly not quite sure whether or not she truly wanted to hear this story anymore.

But she said nothing, and let Rosamund continue.

"You see, about six months ago, it was early August I think—or maybe late July, I can't seem to remember. It doesn't matter. Well, six months ago, or maybe seven months ago, I was pregnant." Rosamund's steely voice, the voice shored up by generations of emotional distance and practiced stoicism, cracked at her last word; caught at the back of her throat, it came out as a whisper, a lost prayer, a word so desperate to be forgotten.

_Pregnant._

Cora felt herself smile, almost reflexively, at the word; the word she was so eager to ascribe to herself. But she quickly realized that it wasn't a smiling matter, as the absence of a baby spoke more than Rosamund ever could. There was no child, no swollen abdomen holding the promise of a child, and there was only Rosamund, sitting beside her looking pale and sad.

"Marmaduke and I had been married for long enough that I started to think perhaps we just were not meant to have any children," She explained, shrugging her shoulders weakly. "And when I began to feel ill, I never thought…never thought that is what it would be. But then it was. The doctor said I was about four months gone and that there was no reason the baby wouldn't be perfectly healthy." She paused again, as if wracking her brain for the details she worked so hard to forget.

"Oh, Rosamund," Cora breathed, squeezing her hand.

"—I'm fine. Really, I am." She paused once more, offering Cora a reassuring nod before continuing. "Mama was down in London for some event and so I had her over to tea to tell her the happy news. She wasn't very happy. She said _'Well I suppose that means the Painswicks will be tied to our family name forever, then.'"_

"Rosamund, I'm sure she didn't mean it," Cora tried to look sure, biting her lip to keep herself from frowning again.

"Perhaps not. She always had it in her mind that I married Marmaduke simply because he had money, because our fortune was dwindling before you met Robert, and I married him as a way to maintain my lifestyle. But it isn't true; I love him very much."

"I know you do," Cora's voice was quiet and softer now, her eyes worried and dark with concern.

"About a week after I saw Mama, I was home for the evening by myself. It was just after diner; Marmaduke had been out all day. He had some business dinner and he didn't want to go but I insisted, told him that he needn't treat me like an invalid." Rosamund chuckled slightly, her face brightening at the memory of their playful banter. "I decided to go down to the library for a magazine I had left there. I never made it out of the bedroom, though. Marmaduke was always bothering me about the silly rug in the bedroom. He always tripped on it, getting out of bed; he said it was too large for the room and that we needed something smaller. I suppose I should have listened. I stumbled, maybe on the rug, or maybe on my nightdress, I don't remember, and I flew right across the floor."

Cora let out a deep sigh, and moved closer to Rosamund, wrapping her hands more securely around hers and drawing her lips together tightly, still willing herself not to get upset. She only nodded again.

"I thought I was fine. I even laughed, as I looked incredibly stupid just lying there on the floor. But then I tried sitting up and this pain, this horrible pain, came over me and it felt as though something was ripping through my insides. I don't remember much of anything else, except I looked down and saw blood seeping through my nightdress. I must have passed out, because it's all just…it's all just black after that. And the servants, they—no one heard me all the way upstairs. It wasn't until Marmaduke got home nearly an hour later that he—" She was crying again, now, her shoulders hunched with the sorrow of it all and the fresh pain of a long abandoned wound suddenly being torn open. It seemed a merciless pain, the sort that would be as strong and jagged even years later.

Cora only sat beside her, gently rubbing small circles into her back and wondering why the world was sometimes so cruel. It wasn't all supposed to be this way, was it?

"When I woke up, I was at the hospital with Marmaduke. Do you know I'd never seen him cry before? Well, he was crying and then I knew. I knew that the baby was gone."

Cora felt rather small, in the great room. It was one of the first times she was faced with such a stark reminder that living in a grand house and being wealthy did not protect them from the outside world. She could feel tears in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, and felt her face redden, embarrassed that she could not contain her emotions as Rosamund sat there nearly drowning in her own.

She was able to collect herself after a moment, and saw that Rosamund was once again looking out the window. "Rosamund, I'm so very sorry. So terribly sorry. Perhaps in a few months you could try again—"

"No—" Rosamund replied, not giving her a chance to finish. And then she laughed a sickening sort of laugh before looking back to Cora. "It seems I was not meant to be a mother. The doctors, whatever they did to stop all the bleeding, they explained that I would not be having any children."

"Oh, Rosamund, no," Cora breathed, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"I suppose it is up to you and Robert to give Mama and Papa grandchildren, Darling." Rosamund replied softly, finally extracting her hand from Cora's to wipe her eyes. They felt sore from crying, unused to the action, and she knew they would be rather red in the morning.

"But it's alright, Cora. Really, I think it's for the best. Lord knows I would not be a very good mother. I'm far too critical, and far too much like Mama, as much as I loathe to admit it."

"I'm sure Mama doesn't mean to be," Cora began, searching for the gentlest turn of phrase.

"No, you see, she does. This is where the story gets interesting, actually. A few days after the accident, she arrived at the townhouse with this great bundle of papers. Marmaduke had gone out for a walk, and so it was just the two of us," Rosamund explained.

"What did she want?"

"What does she ever want? She wanted the satisfaction of being proved right. She stopped by Murray's office before coming to see me. It seems she decided that the whole fiasco was some sort of sign that she was right about my marriage; that now I had a chance to be rid of it all," Rosamund paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "She wanted me to sign theses papers, she said she knew she could get Marmaduke to sign them, especially now, and that I could come back to Downton so she could _take care of me_." She laughed softly again, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I told her to leave, and that I never wanted to see her again. She called me ungrateful and stormed out. Papa came over that night to apologize, he insisted he knew nothing about it all and asked me not to cause a rift in the family. And then Marmaduke forced me to agree, saying that I could not write off my own family."

"I know she loves you and Robert very much," Cora offered, frowning as the awful truth of it all turned over in her head. "But she had no right to do that to you."

"No, she did not. But Mama loves Downton. She loves this way of life, and she fails to understand when people move beyond the walls she has erected here. I don't blame her, not really. She thought it would be the sensible thing to do." Rosamund explained, standing from her seat and clutching the arm of the settee with a pale, shaky hand. "Please forgive me, but I think it is time for bed, now." She nodded and began to move toward the door.

"And Cora?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she murmured softly, before disappearing out into the dark hallway.

Cora sat, frozen in her seat for a long while. The room was pitch black, as all the lamps had burned down, and she was left alone to replay the story over and over in her mind. But it wasn't a story. It had happened. And it had happened to someone she knew, someone close to her and someone she loved. A horrible truth that would likely be buried from the world and never see light of day again. It would burn out with the lamps in the library, and blow away with the winter wind. She knew Rosamund would never speak of it again. Big displays of emotion were not the Crawley way, and it obviously hurt her to even think of it fleetingly.

Cora stood, finally, and made her way to the door. Knowing full well that as soon as she closed the door, she too would be forced to bury the tale as well.

Cora managed to make it all the way back upstairs to the safety of her bedroom before her shaking hands and legs got the best of her. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and sunk to the ground, hugging her knees close and taking a few deep breaths.

Looking up, she suddenly remembered why had she left the room at all, so late at night—Robert's brandy. Not wanting to be anywhere near the library again, Cora only shrugged at her oversight and stood, ready to crawl into bed and huddle beneath the blankets.

Robert wasn't in bed, though, as he had fallen asleep on the chaise in the corner where she left him. He looked so peaceful, clutching the blanket with a faint smile on his face, and she didn't want to disturb him. But, turning to the large empty bed once more, she knew that sleeping in it alone was not a plausible choice.

At least not tonight.

Creeping over to the chaise, Cora shook Robert's arm gently, murmuring his name in the hopes of waking her slumbering husband. It only took a few tries before his sleepy eyes blinked open and looked at her curiously.

"Darling are you alright?" He murmured, stretching his arm and leaning up on the other to face her.

"Yes, I just couldn't bear to sleep without you," she explained, reaching for his hand as he sat up from his reclined position. He looked at her curiously again, as she never usually minded his falling asleep on the chaise, the rare occasions it happened. Usually she would leave him be and he'd wake to find himself covered with a blanket—nearly always her doing.

But tonight she looked frightened, and her grip on his hand was alarmingly tight. So he stood, swept her up into his arms and carried her to bed, settling in beside her and pulling her to rest securely in his arms.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Robert felt her inhale sharply and her body tense. "Cora, what is it?" His concern grew as she remained silent. Cora was not one to keep things bottled up and she rather enjoyed talking endlessly about every feeling she felt in a given moment.

She shifted in his arms, until her body was pressed right against his and her arms wrapped around his waist. "It's nothing," she murmured, breathing in the comforting scent of his nightshirt. "I just need you to hold me like this for a while."

"Alright," Robert whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead again. Even in the dark of the room he could feel her warm, flushed skin as he pressed his lips to the normally cool curve just below her hairline.

"Just until I fall asleep," Cora explained again, her whisper muddled against the fabric of his pajamas and the exhaustion in her voice.

"I won't move. I'm not going anywhere," Robert promised.


	10. Day Ten

A/N: This chapter breaks away from the plot slightly, as I thought we all needed a little bit of a Robert and Cora-centric chapter.

* * *

_February 9th, 1892_

After Cora's conversation with Rosamund, the morning and rest of the day passed with little fanfare. The young couples stayed holed up in their rooms, as their parents continued to pass each other in the hallway, still pretending the other did not exist. The house was silent, an eerie détente passed over it, and no one wanted to upset the delicate peace. So avoidance was the new plan of attack, so to speak.

Robert knew something was not quite right with his wife. He knew it as soon as she had returned from the library without his brandy yesterday. He felt it in his own chest, as though when something was wrong with Cora it was wrong with him too. Over time, the life he had once tried to keep separate from his wife had melded right beside hers. Now he had trouble pointing to where exactly he ended and Cora began.

And so when he woke the following morning, to his wife staring intently at him, he was rather unsurprised. His eyes adjusted to the bright light streaming from the window and tried to sit up as Cora continued to look at him, her bright eyes wide and curious. She stilled his movement, though, and pressed her hands on his chest as she curled closer to him.

She purred his name and let her fingers trace the distinct features of his face. "Promise me everything will be alright?" She whispered, her eyes still fixed on his. It unsettled him; the intensity of her gaze, and her words gave him pause to consider that this was more than residual worry about their conversation from days before.

Somehow, though it did not even make complete sense to him, Cora looked older; she looked stoic and unlike herself. It frightened him and he tried to sit up once more, but she kept her arms wrapped tightly around him, making it impossible for him to do anything more than return her stare.

He nodded, slowly, processing her words. "Everything will be alright," he replied dutifully. He did not know what this 'alright' connoted, but perhaps it would indeed be alright, whatever it was.

Cora tilted her head ever so slightly, as if deep in thought. Seemingly satisfied with his assurance, she leaned down and kissed the bare skin peeking out at the top of his nightshirt, just where the last button lay. "Show me?" She whispered, fiddling with the button as her fingers began to scrape gently at his skin.

"Show you what, Darling?" Terribly afraid to say the wrong thing, Robert made no movements nor did he attempt to inquire as to what was presently wrong with his wife. He only lay against the pillows, his eyes now fixed on Cora's nimble fingers as they opened each button running down his shirt.

Her fingers paused on the last button and she looked to him once more, her eyes still dark with an emotion he could not quite place. "Show me it will be alright," she murmured, breaking their eye contact once more so that her lips could set to trailing warm kisses down his chest and abdomen.

When her mouth reached the waistband to his trousers, her tongue slipping out to run across his already overheated skin, he could barely make out an intelligible word. Letting out a low groan of pleasure, Robert arched his back as Cora helped him slide out of his bottoms before grasping him more intimately, gazing up at him once more before replacing hand with mouth.

Squirming beneath his wife's touch and grasping at the sheets, Robert's head clouded with pleasure at the sensation she produced in him. He knew he only had seconds before completely succumbing to her ministrations and so in a pitiful attempt to make good on his promise and _show her_ something, he reached down, his fingers barely grazing her wrists. She looked up at him curiously but smiled and released him when he attempted pulled her up beside him, pressing their bodies close together as they kneeled before one another on the bed.

Robert still felt his own release achingly close, but turned his attention to his wife. His fingers held tightly to her hips and they drew lazy circles through the soft fabric of her nightdress. His lips mirrored her actions of only minutes earlier and trailed down her throat and chest, leaving a warm tingle in their wake. When his lips ran over her breasts, encircling her nipple through the silk she moaned softly and grasped his shoulders to steady herself. Robert didn't let up until he felt her knees buckle beneath her and heard a steady whimper suggesting how affected she was by his touch.

In one swift movement, Robert reached down and pulled the flimsy gown up over Cora's head, letting it float to the floor as their lips connected once again. Their desires grew by the second and Robert could feel the desperate need in Cora's embrace. She clawed carefully at his back, her nails scraping down his sides and abdomen before she reached down to stroke him intimately once more. She could feel how hard, how full of desire and need he was, and she longed to make him feel good; to make him feel as wanted and as safe as he made her feel.

They both needed different things, she to feel safe, and he to feel he could protect her. And so they clung to each other, letting their fingers and mouths make the promises neither could voice.

Cora wanted him, needed him so very much. And so finally she drew back from his embrace and from his lips that had made their way to her breasts again. Turning around and grasping at the headboard, she looked back over her shoulder with lowered eyelashes, silently asking him to take charge.

Robert happily obliged and moved behind her, gathering her hair to let it fall over the front of her shoulder and allow him access to the soft skin on the back of her neck. The smell of her lavender perfume intoxicated him and made him feel dizzy with the decedent excess of it. And when she pressed herself against him more deliberately, no longer able to wait, Robert grasped her hips and settled his face into the hollow of her shoulder.

Just before he could enter her, though, her heard Cora release a soft groan that pulled him out of his own reverie and suddenly had him replaying her words over in his mind once more.

_Show me. Show me Show me._

He could do that. He could show her.

Robert tightened his grip on Cora's hips and moved to turn her over. She resisted slightly, confused as his sudden pause in their passions and her own enormous need clouding her thoughts, and pushed herself back against him once more. It took every ounce of his self control not to give in and instead he moved his hands up to her waist, gently turning her once more.

Cora only looked up at him, the emotion evident in her eyes, as he laid her back against the pillows. "I can show you, but only if you're looking," he whispered, settling himself in front of her. His hands drew her close to him and his fingers worked slowly up her back and through her hair.

"Yes, show me," she murmured again. This time when he thrust into her, slowly as his eyes connected with hers again, it was to their soft moans of pleasure. Cora wrapped her arms securely around her husband and murmured _show me_ over and over as he thrust in and out of her; like a hushed chant, the words passed between them as their bodies pressed skin to skin.

Cora's repeated adorations whispered into his neck made him feel strong and powerful, like he could protect her from anything. And when she wrapped her legs up around his body, locking them closer together as he pushed deeper inside her, he was reminded of how he always wanted to be the one to keep her safe.

He could feel Cora approaching the edge of her own pleasure as she trembled below him, her eyes now closed but her continued murmurs still floating in the heavy air around them. She arched her back and tightened around him before pulling him down against her as he thrust a few more times, then followed her release.

They lay in silent contentment for what seemed like hours; their bodies still connected, neither made any attempt to move or even speak.

Cora's eyes were still closed and her face finally relaxed. Robert was in a similar state and kept his own eyes shut as well, simply relishing in the tactile sensation of his wife's soft skin still huddled against him.

Robert never claimed to be a particularly romantic man. His words were often hurried or fumbled over, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Far too many times he said what was proper instead of what was true and for that he often found himself apologizing sheepishly at his annoyed wife. He was not a poet by any means, and would be hard pressed to conjure up a more romantic sentence than _I want you _or _I need you—_both which happened to be his standbys when it came to romancing Cora late at night between their sheets.

But the feel of Cora's skin, the smooth white porcelain that made her look so very delicate and beautiful, now_ that _could evoke strong feeling. That could inspire poetry and great romantic gestures. She was beautiful, his wife, but it was not her beauty that could provoke him to stand atop Downton and profess his great love for her.

It was they way he felt when she lay in his arms, or the way she murmured his name in the midst of their passions, or even the way her eyes looked on him with such trust, and such need to be protected and kept safe.

He would show her that it would all be just fine.

He knew that she was awake, her heavy breaths against his chest made it obvious, but she made no attempt to speak and only held him close.

So he continued to hold her, making silent promises to never let go.


	11. Exeunt

_A/N: For several reasons, including a busy schedule and rethinking my original outline for this story, I've decided to compress the material into this final chapter. Thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing! _

* * *

_February 14__th__, 1892_

The storm stopped rather unceremoniously, late in the afternoon.

Accustomed to seeing white every time they looked out the windows, neither staff nor family noticed the parting clouds or the rays of sunshine edging their way through. After weeks of heavy snow, harsh winds, and a dark pall that had decamped at Downton, it seemed unusually peaceful outside.

And inside as well.

Two weeks earlier the storm had brought everything to a crashing halt. But just as quickly as everything stood frozen, waiting for it to clear, everything started back up again, working with machine like precision to get the house back in order. The fires were stoked to warm the rooms back up, as everyone had been confined to their bedrooms as of late, and the servants made quick work of clearing the main entry way and paths.

In stark contrast to the bustle below stairs, the family upstairs had been sequestered in their respective bedrooms for several days. Maids would flutter in and out with fresh tea, or footmen to add logs to the fires, but beyond that there was little movement in the dark hallways connecting the rooms.

* * *

Patrick and Violet had taken to spending their afternoons separately, as they found neither could stand the tense air when they happened to find themselves in the same space. Their meals were brought up separately and their individuals fires seen to by separate footmen.

There was gossip of the strife between the Lord and Lady of the house, but the servants hadn't a clue as to what the cause might be.

For they had not heard the hushed whispers, stifled by the crackling fire and spoken in a low tone only passed between husband and wife. They had not heard Violet's sharp reprimand of their son in law's inability to care for his wife and her even sharper criticism of Rosamund's choice of husband. _Uncouth, _she had called him; suggesting that perhaps he should have sought out a wife from one of the factories his family owned, instead of poaching their daughter away from the life of a proper aristocrat.

If the servants had been listening, they would have heard Patrick's terse reply and the slam of the door joining the two rooms.

The door that had not been opened or passed through since then.

* * *

Marmaduke and Rosamund had taken to spending much of their time together, only sneaking downstairs for books or brandy from the library. They rarely rang for the servants and truth be told it was a relief downstairs, as the giggles that came from their bedroom suggested they most certainly should not be disturbed.

Even Cora had taken note of her sister in law's breathy laughter floating down the hall most scandalously the afternoon after their talk. She stopped for a brief moment, the laugh giving her pause, and smiled to herself—content with the realization that perhaps even after great sorrow and sadness there could be happiness again. After all, she knew now more than ever that Rosamund and Marmaduke did not have a monopoly on pain. Eventually she and Robert would be tested as well; eventually there would come a time when their lives would be tainted with the harsher realities of the world. All she could hope was that their love would see them through, as it had done so for Rosamund and Marmaduke.

Cora and Robert had remained mostly upstairs as well, though their faces were the most frequently seen during the latter days of the storm. They could often be found taking short walks outside, bundled in heavy woolen hats, or even in the drawing room, sitting close to the fire and speaking so softly the words were lost to anyone but them. The words, soft murmurs of affection and gentle teasing, were whispered ear to ear, their lips pressed close to the other in an attempt to relay the messages as fully as possible.

They family had not reconvened for a formal dinner since the great outburst at the start of the storm. Each couple seemed to have a new excuse each night since, whether it be illness or fatigue, they had all managed to avoid gathering in confined spaces all together for any long period of time.

* * *

The one exception had been luncheon two days earlier. Seemingly surprised to see one another, each person wandered into the room looking far more bewildered than they had upon entering, and sat silently picking at their food, gazes all carefully fixed on various points in the room hoping that no one would try to disturb the relative calm. Patrick checked his watch for the time nearly every minute. Violet inspected the lace on her sleeve as if it was about to jump right off the fabric. Marmaduke and Rosamund had anchored themselves at the opposite end of the table and chatted quietly about making plans to return to London once the storm slowed. And Robert and Cora sat between them all, wondering when precisely they had become the most even-keeled couple in the house.

It was Cora who broke the silence.

Setting her glass down with an overstated flourish, her simple words, "I have an announcement," caught the attention of everyone at the table, including her husband.

No one replied, but all looked at her curiously as she took a pause before turning her gaze up and down the table. "I've planned a little dinner party for Valentine's Day and I expect you all to be in attendance."

Violet nearly scoffed at her daughter in law's bizarre assertion of authority but felt her husband's gaze on her and so instead kept her counsel, focusing her attention back to the intricate lace that grazed her wrist.

"Darling, I don't know if it is considered a party if we are the only guests," Robert suggested gently, though smiling at his wife's attempt to bring a bit of brevity to the horribly silent room. Judging by the impetuous expression she wore, he knew she had just thought up the idea as she sat there eating her lunch. He could always count on Cora to assuage the pain in any situation, or at least for her to try her very best to spare him any discomfort. And this was no different.

But she brushed him off with a teasing wave of her hand and insisted that she had the entire thing under control, refusing to divulge any details other than that everyone was expected to dinner on the fourteenth at eight P.M. sharp. To both their surprise, they were met with no opposition and the luncheon continued in a silent détente, no one willing to break the fragile calm that had descended over them all.

* * *

And so as the snow slowed outside their windows, Cora readied herself for her carefully planned fete.

Thrown together in only two days, and with the dwindling supplies still found in the kitchen, Cora had somehow managed to work alongside Cook to plan a menu she was absolutely sure would please everyone. She had even convinced Robert to sneak down to the wine cellar to bring up a few of the vintage bottles meant for special occasions. Her bright eyes and soft kiss had easily persuaded him and he had returned not thirty minutes later, three pilfered bottles hidden beneath his jacket.

Cora sat at the vanity fussing with her hair and making last minute adjustments to her dress. She wanted the night to be better than those that had come before, as of recent. She was rather tired of everyone walking around on eggshells and knew that though the pains they inflicted upon one another would never be forgotten, some happy memories could go a long way in burying them a bit deeper, at least.

She so desperately wanted some happy memories. And tonight she intended to create some.

Robert entered the bedroom and interrupted her musings, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck and humming softly against her skin. "You look beautiful, my darling one. Absolutely glowing. A vision," he enthused, taking her hands until she stood so he could twirl her around and admire her more completely. "Beautiful," he confirmed once more.

Cora's grin set the room alight and her hands found their way to his dinner jacket, smoothing the minor creases and adjusting his tie. "You're quite dashing yourself, my sweet husband," she replied. He always did look ever so handsome in his dinner jacket and knew just what to say to make her blush.

Offering her his arm, they headed out of the bedroom and down to the party.

* * *

Cora's guests were all seated around the absurdly over decorated table when she and Robert arrived in the dining room. The deep red tablecloth she had selected was lying beneath the cream colored plates and tall candles that she insisted were absolutely necessary—they were far more romantic than the usual dinner table accouterments. And most amusingly of all, for Violet at least, were the tiny paper hearts scattered haphazardly across the length of the table.

"I cut them out myself," Cora offered proudly as she took her seat across from Robert and noticed Violet staring intently at her decorations.

Violet snapped up and settled her gaze on Cora.

Cora, who suddenly looked so very young and hopeful, sitting before her, surrounded by her homemade paper hearts, only smiled softly back at her. There were countless things she could say about the décor; things she could mention about the utter American nature of it all, or what a mess it looked, strewn about her formal dining room. But Cora's bright eyes seemed to lock her tongue, allowing her to only nod slightly and her lips to upturn in a smile. "It's very festive," she replied finally, and felt rather guilty at the look of sheer excitement on Cora's face upon receiving such minor praise.

Violet knew that everyone else was watching her warily, still waiting for a biting retort, but she would not give them the satisfaction of being proved right, nor would she be the cause of Cora running from the table in tears again. Pragmatic, she certainly was, but cruel was not a trait she had ever wanted to be ascribed. Looking at her family before her, she realized with startling clarity that her desire to make them all happy, to make them the envy of London society, had been for naught. For although she sat at the table in a position of power, Lady Grantham who ruled as queen of the county, she knew that if they had the choice, not one of her dining companions would willingly choose to have a meal with her, lest they risk the possibility of her upsetting them all yet again.

She sipped her wine, which tasted far better than what was usually served with dinner, and resolved to behave herself. She resolved, though it would likely never work, to apologize to her daughter…to both of her daughters. Because looking at them both sitting before her, laughing with their husbands and tossing paper hearts at one another, she so very desperately wanted them all to be happy.

Dinner was incredibly well executed and the conversation flowed as the courses were brought out every so often, each plate adorned with larger cutout hearts that Cora had made to go along with her table decorations. And each time Violet failed to comment on their presence on the plates, the mood of the room seemed lighter and lighter.

They laughed about the possibility of being snowed in at Downton forever and gossiped about the neighbors who had probably killed one another or gone insane after being shut inside for so many days. Cora laughed unguardedly and spoke of winters in New York, punctuating her stories with loving glances at her husband, and, every so often, kind smiles at Violet and Patrick or Rosamund and Marmaduke.

After hearing about the winter where Martha Levinson slipped halfway down Fifth Avenue, Violet interjected with a story of her own. "I remember the first time Robert went out into the snow, when he was just a little boy," she began.

Everyone paused, waiting for her to make some remark about the lack of grandchildren in the room, but her eyes had a faraway look as she smiled down at her plate and continued. "Rosamund escaped from the nursery one afternoon and found me in the library, insisting that their Papa take them out to play in the snow. Well, little Robert came toddling in the room following after his sister and chattering on about how he had been promised a trip outside. They were both so very small," she explained, looking up her now very adult children, "but I was won over by their insistent pleas and Robert's chubby little face. I had Patrick take them outside with the sleigh and didn't see them for nearly two hours. By the time they returned they were all so red nosed I was sure I'd never be able to let them out of the house again," she murmured, chuckling to herself.

Violet turned up slightly to meet the soft expression painted across her husband's face. "I remember the day," he replied quietly, looking down the table at his children. "You two insisted that we find the biggest hill, and Rosamund—you had me trek out to the forest before you were satisfied." Patrick, too, smiled a faraway smile and fell silent, leaving the other guests at the table sitting quietly.

"I remember it too, Mama," Rosamund said, looking up and smiling ever so slightly. Violet looked up at her daughter, her very grown up daughter, who just yesterday it seemed was sneaking into the library with red curls and mischievous giggles, and wanted to weep with the horror of it all. Her children, that she had cared for and groomed so carefully to prepare them for life, they sat before her completely out of her control. She could no longer manage their pain, and their lives would be lived with her as a minor character, an outlier that need not be consulted at every turn. But they looked so beautiful sitting before her, with their father's soft blue eyes and her pale skin. Even if they grew to hate her, even if they already did, they would always be hers.

The conversation was eventually drawn away from the past and instead fell upon the future. Patrick reached for his wife's hand under the table as he discussed his plans to open the London house a bit early in the coming months, and everyone listened with excitement as Robert and Cora pondered a trip to New York to see her parents sometime in the spring.

And before they all retired to the drawing room, Cora raised her glass in celebration, so very pleased at the success of her party, and offered a toast of good health and promise for the coming year. Everyone smiled sweetly genuine smiles as their glasses rose as well, and they moved as a group to the other room, talking of opening champagne in honor of the holiday and of the end of the storm.

* * *

Many bottles of champagne were popped, indeed, and nearly two hours later, the party had disbanded to a rather deconstructed affair. Patrick and Violet stood in the corner, both leaning against the wall for support and murmuring unintelligible things that no one else could bother trying to make sense of. It had been a long time since either had consumed alcohol in such excess and upon draining their last glasses, they linked their arms together with a raised brow and headed in the direction of the stairs, bidding slurred goodnights to their children as Patrick muttered something about ending their Valentine's Day on an exciting note.

Rosamund merely chuckled at her drunken parents, no doubt already planning how to bring up their utterly hilarious behavior at breakfast come morning. But when her husband led her to the corner of the room, letting his hands rest on her hips and his voice whisper scandalously exciting things into her ear, any other thoughts quickly dissipated from her mind, and not ten minutes after her parents, Rosamund led him upstairs—intent on making their Valentine's night a happy one as well.

Finally Robert and Cora, settled on the sofa wrapped loosely around one another, found themselves alone in the warm drawing room, a crackling fire and a few near empty bottles of champagne their only remaining party guests.

"You were wonderful today," Robert whispered, peppering kisses to her forehead, "the dinner was wonderful. It was all…" his voice faltered, not finding words appropriate enough to sing her praises and so instead he held her a bit closer, relishing in the comfort he drew from her embrace and the soft hums of pleasure she released every few minutes, obviously content as well.

"Do you think we'll all be alright, Robert?" Cora asked after a long pause, shifting in Robert's arms to look him in the eyes, needing to end the night with a certainty.

He nodded and kissed her lips but said nothing for a while, sitting back in contemplation as his hands made lazy passes up and down her arm. "Yes, I think that we will all be alright," he replied finally, weighing the words as they slid off his tongue. Seemingly pleased with his own certainty, he nodded once more and kissed his wife again to seal the promise firmly.

Cora murmured in agreement and rested her head against his chest, wondering if their lives would go back to normal after the snow melted and everyone found their comfortable routines again. Would they pass over these two weeks as though they had never happened? Pretend they were a blip of confusion or of brief madness in the schemes of all their lives? Or could they find a way to remember? To remember the pain and the anger and happiness—and to hold on to it so as to never repeat their pasts again?

She did not know.

She did not know what would happen come the light of morning or the change of winter to spring. There was no one who could predict and no one who could promise that things would always be alright.

But for the night, wrapped in Robert's arms in their home, surrounded by their family, all was right and so they could have a respite from the plans for the future and the worries of what might come.

She could kiss her husband, and lean into his strong embrace. She could whisper in his ear "take me to bed," and let him carry her up the stairs in happy compliance. And they could shut their door, lay in bed together and make love, pretending for just a bit longer that they were the only two who occupied their starry world.

And that is precisely what they did.

The inhabitants of Downton went to bed calmer, perhaps wiser, and happier.

None cared to question the peace they had found, nor were they interested in testing the rough waters comprised of things left unsaid. Content to let it all lie where it would, they found comfort in themselves and in each other, instead.

* * *

_Life picked back up rather quickly. Snow was cleared and soon melted, leaving bright green grass and blooming flowers in its wake._

_Broken tree branches were cleared away to make room for new plantings, and the storm's path of destruction was soon erased from the landscape. It's tangible impact could no longer be seen from the windows of the house and by the end of winter the last of the wood taken from the jagged branches had been burned in the fireplaces, heating the house and enveloping in warmth._

_Months passed and memories of the storm faded to past. Blurred with the busyness of spring, no one could seem to remember the details of their two weeks unless hard pressed for recollections_

_Perhaps it was better that way._

_Early summer brought days darker than any of them could have ever anticipated, with Patrick Crawley dying early one morning just after the sun had risen and the day's tasks begun._

_The house transitioned into mourning and greeted its new Lord and Lady, the young couple who had been thrust at one another, but now could think of nothing they wanted more than to cling to one another for support. They stood side by side, grasping at the other for strength as summer melted to autumn and they watched Violet move to the Dower House, her presence in the house a constant reminder of the impermanence of life._

_They watched from afar as Rosamund and Marmaduke settled back into their lives, mourning passing into daily routine and before long parties and social events filling their London house with constant regularity once more._

_They spent little time in the house all together after those two weeks in February. The better part of the year passed in a blur, no one stopping to wonder where the time had gone. But they did make an exception late one November evening. Just a little over nine months after their Valentine's dinner, they came together once more and sat decamped in the library, popping champagne and toasting excitedly, just as a very light snow began to fall outside. No one noticed the first signs of winter, though, nor did they remark on the slight chill in the air. Wide smiles and cheers louder than could ever be deemed appropriate rang through the halls._

_For upstairs, only moments earlier, Lady Mary Josephine Crawley made her way into their world._


End file.
